


Unblemished

by lamentomori



Category: Ring of Honor, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Multi, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2020-05-20 03:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19369312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamentomori/pseuds/lamentomori
Summary: A night out ends in blood. The morning after brings a corpse.





	1. Jane Doe

Her breathing is far too fast. Her heart is pounding just as quickly. She’s afraid, so very afraid. Her night had turned so sour, so quickly, so against her will.

She’d come out for a good time. A night out with her workmates. They’d gone to dinner, just her and the other girls in the office. Dinner had become a drink. A drink became many.  They’d ended up in a dance club. She’d seen him by chance. Tall, and broad enough to stand out, though the messy mop of dyed hair had helped. She’d wanted to catch his eye. She’d tried very hard to catch his eye. He’d ignored her, or simply hadn’t seen her. She’d resigned herself to being ignored by the handsome man she’d wanted to speak to, dance with at most. It’s gone so much further than that.

She’s trying to shove him away. He’s holding her closer. There’s no escape. He’s bigger than she is, stronger too. He’s smiling at her; the barest quirk of his pretty bow-like lips. He’s handsome man, all soft features, soulful eyes, and strength. He’s so very strong.

“Please.” She gasps, her hands weakly pawing at his shoulders. “Please.” His smile grows into a broad smirk. “Please…I’m scared.” She whispers. He strokes her temple with his thumb. He says something she can’t understand. “Please.” She whimpers. He’s taken a handful of her hair, and yanked her head back. “Please.” He says something else to her. She can’t understand the words, but she knows the tone. Soft, cajoling, soothing. His teeth scrape her neck. More gentle words. His teeth scrape a little harder. “Please.” Another gasping sob. She’s so very afraid. His hand tightens in her hair, yanking her head back. “Please.” The arm about her waist draws her in even more.  His teeth feel sharp against her neck. “Please, mister. _Please_.”

“Stop playing.” A different man. She tries to turn her head to plead with him. She can’t. She’s too weak, too trapped. This new man comes into sight, over the handsome man’s shoulder.

“Please?” She’s not sure what she’s begging for beyond her freedom from the handsome man. This new arrival is less exotic than the man pinning her to the wall, he’s handsome in a more familiar way. Dark, thick curls hanging long over his broad shoulders, so board he can easily encompass the man that’s restraining her. “Please, get him away from me. I’m scared.” The new man plasters himself to the other’s back. He moves the dyed, orangish hair out of the way, placing lavish kisses to the neck of the man trapping her.

“Eh, I’m trying to have a moment here.” He sounds awkward not speaking his unknown, strange language. The sounds of familiar words produced clumsily by an inexperienced tongue.

“I told you to hurry up.”

“You _told_ me to stop playing.” He makes a gasping noise as the other man bites his neck. He says something she doesn’t understand again, smiling prettily.

“Please, you have to help me.” She isn’t sure who she’s asking for help from. Neither of these men are going to help her.

“Tranquilo.” The man she’d just wanted to dance with purrs in her ear. A shiver runs through her. The pain in her neck is brief. She meets the other man’s eyes.

“Go to sleep, pretty girl. Close your eyes, and sleep.” His voice is thick, warm, and soft. “Enough, you’ve had enough.” The handsome man, the man she wanted to dance with, the man with the pretty cupid’s bow mouth steps back from her. His lips are stained red, bright, vibrant red. His pupils are blown wide, swallowing up the umber caramel of his irises. He looks beautiful; his skin seeming to glow.

“Nu-ah.” She gasps as she’s dropped. She feels even weaker. Her breaths sound wet. She can’t feel her legs, or her arms, or her body. She can barely feel her consciousness. She _can_ feel something wet on her neck. “What?” She manages to force out. The other man smiles at her lazily, and takes the handsome man back into his arms. He licks the red from his lips. Blood. Her blood. That’s why her neck is wet. The new man is caressing the other’s hair. She can feel her blood running down her neck.

“Messy, pareja, so messy.” The other man laps more of her blood from those pretty lips. He says something else with those incomprehensible words. “Hmm, maybe.” The other man crouches down in front of her. There’s a smile on his lips, not the soft smile he’d been wearing as he talked with the man she’d wanted to dance with. “Pretty girl.” He sighs. His hand rests on top of her head, his fingers digging in. “I told you to sleep, didn’t I?” She stares at him. He stares back at her. “Close your eyes, pretty girl. Close your eyes.” She can’t find it in her to argue with him. She closes her eyes.


	2. A Storm Brewing

“What do we have here?” The CSI operatives glance over at him, and promptly dismiss him. It’s a frustration, but a familiar one. He looks young, it’s a blessing and a curse. It makes it easier to talk with certain suspects or witnesses, but it means that his colleagues always treat him like a child. With gritted teeth, Lee ducks under the tape, coming closer to the scene. One of the white clad CSI looks at him. “I’m Detective Lee, I’ve been assigned to this case.” The CSI operative raises his eyebrow, but does step aside. He hopes that it’s not one of the many different CSI he’s met before, and didn’t recognise because of the facemasks. It’s not his fault they all look the same; wrapped up in white from head to toe to preserve the scene. He, thankfully, recognises coroner, giving him a quick nod as he stops at his side in front of the corpse.

“Female, early to mid-twenties.” The coroner gestures to the slumped body. “She’s been here for a few hours, full rigor, no sign of fixed lividity.”

“Is there even enough blood left in her for there to _be_ lividity?” Lee’s partner approaches them, his voice is loud, his Spanish good, but heavily accented. Lee crouches down to look more closely at the body. She’s pale, but the dead usually are. There’s what looks like a lake of blood around her. He’s never seen a scene like this. “Takahashi.” Lee hears Hiromu say behind him, but it’s not important. The woman in front of him is what’s important. She could be anyone. Pretty, her makeup a little plain, but she was pretty. Her hair is down, thick ink-black waves, swept back from her face, tucked behind her ears, as though by a lover. Her clothes are undisturbed, the clothes of a normal young woman who’d gone out with her friends, and somehow ended up dead in an alleyway. He can hear Hiromu talking with the coroner and the CSI. He’s sure that his partner is gathering relevant information, but the words aren’t registering with him.

“Do we have a name?” Lee asks, wanting to know, because it always feels important to know the name of a victim.

“No.” Hiromu crouches by him, the CSI and coroner have stepped back for a moment. “So far all we know is that she’s dead.”

“Not much, huh?” Lee mutters. He’ll find this poor woman’s killer. She deserves that as the minimum. “They have anything to tell us yet?” Hiromu tuts, his eyes narrowed as he studies the body. He moves, carefully tiptoeing through the blood around to her left side. “What is it?”

“Puncture wounds?” Hiromu uses a pen to move her hair, his eyes still narrowed. “What’s the coroner’s name?”

“Ramirez, why?” Lee tries to see what Hiromu is looking at, but he’s in the way, blocking his view of these _puncture wounds_.

“Ramirez! C’mere.” Hiromu calls, and the coroner comes back, he looks slightly annoyed by being ordered about. “What’s this?” Ramirez comes over, crouching down by Hiromu.

“The puncture wounds? I can’t explain them.” Ramirez sighs. “They don’t look big enough to kill her, but there’s no sign of any other injury. I’ll know more after the autopsy.”

“Hmm…” Hiromu tuts again, and straightens up. “Can you do me a favour, when you run toxicology will you check for anticoagulants?” That drags Lee’s attention from the corpse. It’s an odd request, even for Hiromu.

“Anticoagulants?” Lee straightens up, considering his partner. Hiromu shrugs. This is conversation to have in the car. Other people don’t need to know about Hiromu and his weird theories. He wouldn’t be surprised if Hiromu suggested this was the work of El Chupacabra, in fact for Hiromu it would be understated.

“It looks like she died from blood loss…but those little puncture wounds wouldn’t drain a fully-grown woman in a few hours, not slumped like she is.” Hiromu sighs, rubbing his temples. “If something was introduced to her bloodstream to stop clots from forming maybe, but…” Another sigh. Ramirez is looking at him thoughtfully.

“Yeah…I’ll run the tests, Detective Takahashi.” Hiromu nods gratefully, and wanders down the alleyway. “He’s not local, is he?” Ramirez glances at Lee, his eyebrows knit, then he turns to watch Hiromu meander down the alley. He appears to be concentrating on the ground, and occasionally peeking into the random dumpsters.

“Japanese.” Lee turns from Hiromu, and back to the dead woman. “What do you think happened here, Ramirez?” The coroner shakes his head. He looks old. Lee’s learned that this job makes you age. Being around the dregs of humanity have the tendency to speed up the aging process.

“Right now, Lee? I don’t know.” He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Those wounds…the blood…” Ramirez trails off. “The blood.” He mutters again, his eyes narrowed. Lee considers the pool of blood, the paleness of the corpse.

“Ramirez, how much blood is in a human body?”

“Five litres.” Ramirez flags over some the CSI, gesturing to the dried blood pool. There’s not enough blood. There’s no way this dried puddle is made of five litres of blood. There’s no way those little puncture wounds on her neck drained her of five litres blood. Something isn’t right about this scene; beyond the fact the scene exists.

“What is it?” Lee approaches Hiromu. He’s standing, staring down the alleyway, his hands in his pockets, his lips pursed.

“People bleed wet blood.” Hiromu mutters, his tone distracted.

“Usually.” Lee shoots him an odd look, uncertain as to what Hiromu’s getting at with that odd statement.

“There’s no traces of it on the street, or down here. Someone had to stab her neck, someone had to get her blood out of her.”

“Assuming that’s her blood on the ground.” Lee cuts in. He knows where Hiromu’s going with this, and can see his point. Their perpetrator would be covered in blood if she was killed in situ, but there’s no real _clear_ cause of death yet. “Ramirez says the human body has about five litres of blood. There isn’t five litres around her.”

“Ramirez’ll run DNA tests on the blood on the ground?” Hiromu crouches down suddenly, once more blocking Lee’s view of what he’s doing.

“Of course. What is it?” Lee tries to look over his shoulder, but Hiromu is curled around himself slightly. What ever he’s doing is for now for him only.

“Nothing...maybe…I don’t know. I’ll tell you when I know.” Hiromu turns and smiles at him. He’s a handsome man. His smiles are disarming. A complaining meow. Hiromu chuckles, turning back to the cat he’d been petting. “Well, the thing I’m thinking about I’ll tell you later, _this_ is a cat.” Hiromu laughs. “Alleys always have them, and they _always_ require pets.” He pets the cat, his full attention on it.

“You gonna tell me you can talk to cats?” Hiromu snorts in response, but says nothing to counter his flippant comment. “What are you doing down here anyway? It can’t have just been to talk to cats, and to look for blood.”

“You’ve been out in nightclubs, right?” Hiromu straightens up, and dusts his trousers down absently. “There are two things girls in nightclubs are never without, one - their friends, and two - their bag.” Lee casts his gaze back at the corpse.

“Where the hell _is_ her bag?” Lee bites his bottom lip, squinting down the alley. The cat meows, sounding annoyed.

“Stolen, maybe?” Hiromu’s returned to petting the cat, its purrs are loud and content. “But why kill her, _then_ steal her bag…” Hiromu sighs, and stands up once more, cuddled to his chest is the little stray cat. “What do you think, little one?” The little cat meows. Hiromu nods wisely. Lee rolls his eyes. The cat is still meowing, he can hear it as he wanders further down the alley. _Why kill her, then steal her bag._ Hiromu’s words weren’t deep, but they’re lingering. The cat’s still meowing. The list of people who might kill this random woman isn’t short. This isn’t a safe neighbourhood. There’s plenty of dealers, thieves, gangsters, or violent tourists who think the local police aren’t as good as the ones back home. Lee leans his head back, staring up at the sky. It’s overcast, thick grey clouds trapping the heat over the city. It’s too hot, too humid. “We need a storm.” Hiromu’s too close, Lee can smell his aftershave, can feel his presence just behind him.

“Yeah.” Lee nods pointlessly in response to Hiromu’s remark. A storm would be good for the city, it’d break the heavy weight that’s hanging over it. “Not until we’ve finished with the crime scene though.” Lee turns to him, with a wry smile.

“Hmm, true enough.” The cat still pressed against Hiromu’s chest, purrs loudly, like a quiet rumble of thunder. “So, what are we gonna do now? I mean, we need to check missing persons, and have someone look for her bag.”

“We don’t know what kind of bag we’re looking for. Someone needs to speak with bouncers…but we’d be better off with a photo to jog memories… Descriptions aren’t exactly the best thing to use.”

“You check those reports.” Hiromu smiles at him, his face half-hidden behind the little cat. “I’m gonna take a walk.” Lee stares at him incredulously. “My new friend requires a bed, and some dinner.”

“Put the stray down, and do your job.” Lee steps away from him, needing some space between himself and Hiromu. He laughs at him, his fingers ruffling the cat’s fur. There’s a smile on his lips, a smile like a smug cat that has feathers poking out of its mouth. He comes closer to Lee, leans closer still, his lips almost brushing his ear.

“No.” His voice is a purr, deep and warm enough to make the hairs on Lee’s arm stand up. He turns on his heel, the ends of his hair flutter over Lee’s cheek. “I’ll meet you at the station, _partner_.”


	3. Katerina Vasquez

Ramirez had sounded confused on the call, confused but urgent. He’d told Lee to get there as quickly as he could. Lee had told him he was on his way, leaving the station without thinking. It was only when he got stuck in traffic, that it occurred to him that he’s no idea where Hiromu is.

“Where are you?” Lee asks once Hiromu finally answers the call. On the other end of the line he can hear Hiromu cooing at the stray.

 _“Hello, Lee. What can I do for you?”_ Hiromu sounds amused. Lee glances at his phone, then returns to scowling at traffic.

“I got a call from Ramirez.” Traffic finally starts moving. “He wants us at the morgue ASAP.”

 _“Hmm…I’m on my way.”_ Lee can hear gentle jingling of little bells. It doesn’t sound like Hiromu’s going to show up, because he’s apparently busy playing with his new cat.

“Takahashi, you need better not be planning on keeping that cat.” Hiromu laughs at him. Lee takes a deep breath, holding it for a ten count, letting it out slowly. Getting angry with his partner won’t help. They need to work together to solve this case, no matter how much Hiromu annoys him, he needs to focus, and cooperate with him.

 _“I’ll meet you at the morgue, partner.”_ Hiromu hangs up. Lee has grown to hate the way Hiromu says the word partner. He drags it out, making the word feel far more scandalous than it should when it’s nothing but an accurate description of their relationship. Hiromu’s been troublesome since the day he arrived in Mexico. He’s not even entirely certain why Hiromu is in Mexico. He’d said something vague, and changed the subject.

“Asshole.” Lee mutters, getting stuck in another traffic jam.

The city morgue is a strange place. No matter how busy it is, it’s quiet and cold. A sobbing family shuffle past him, sparing him a quick glance. He gives them a tight-lipped nod. It’s always awkward bumping into the grieving in this place.

Ramirez’s office is towards the back of the building, a cramped little room, that is empty. The clerk tells him that Ramirez is still working on the body from the alleyway. Ramirez looks up from noting something down when Lee enters the room.

“What have you got for me?”

“Not too much,” Ramirez tucks his pen behind his ear, and sighs. “She’s missing a lot of blood. The CSI think there’s between two to two and a half litres on the ground, and…” Ramirez scrubs a hand over his face. “This is…” He looks at the body on the table. “There’s maybe half a litre in her.”

“She’s missing a lot of blood.” Lee mutters. The dead woman looks even paler under the bright lights. “Anything else?”

“We’ve got a name.” Hiromu, complete with a soft jingling sound. Lee stares at him. No sign of a cat, but around his wrist is a little leather band, with a glinting little bell. “Katerina Vasquez.” Hiromu smiles slightly, but quickly schools his face into blankness. “She was a secretary in a nearby insurance firm.” Hiromu considers her thoughtfully.

“Insurance firm? You have a name for it? Might be something to look into…there’s a far amount of gang activity in the area. Maybe she knew something she shouldn’t have? Any boyfriends?” Lee offers, Hiromu shrugs.

“Co-workers say she was single. There’s an ex-boyfriend is still in her hometown, but no other known paramours. Uniform are gonna call her parents. One of her co-workers are going to come down and identify the body though.”

“Good work, detective.” Ramirez sounds impressed. Lee isn’t sure how he feels. He’s impressed that Hiromu’s done such impressive work so quickly, but he wants to know how. It always feels like Hiromu is keeping secrets from him, but Lee has no idea what his partner could be keeping to himself.

“Hmm… So, is there anything of note?” He asks, not looking up from the body, looking deep in thought, thoughts Lee needs his partner to share, so they can work on solving this murder, and bringing justice for Katerina Vasquez and her family.

“She’s missing a lot of blood, litre, maybe a litre and a half.” Ramirez sighs, pushing his glasses up. “Those puncture wounds are the only real makes on her. There’s some scuffs on her calves, probably from skidding down the wall.” Ramirez rights his glasses, and gestures to the body. “Help me turn her over.” Lee does as asked. “Here.” He gestures to what could almost be a bruise on the dead woman’s waist.

“It looks old.” Lee squints at the bruise. It’s a mottled greenish brown, like it had been healing for a while.

“Old, or formed when she didn’t have as much blood as she should?” Hiromu asks, focussing on the bruise. “You’ve taken measurements of this, and the puncture wounds?”

“In the report, Takahashi.” Ramirez huffs another sigh. “It’s a strange thing though. You said she didn’t have a lover?”

“Not one that anyone knew about.” Hiromu straighten up. He splays his hand in front of the bruise. “C’mere, Lee.” With no further warning, Hiromu takes a hold of his waist.

“Hey!” Lee shoves him away. He’s not uncomfortable being hugged by a man, but there’s something that makes him uncomfortable when that man is Hiromu. The scent of his aftershave lingers in Lee’s nostrils, expensive but light and gentle.

“We’d need to run a better test than that, but it is possible it was made by someone grabbing her waist.” Ramirez is looking at Lee thoughtfully, Hiromu is squinting at the wounds on Katerina’s neck once more. “I’ll take a closer look at those wounds for you, Takahashi.” Ramirez comes around to Hiromu’s side. Lee feels awkwardly left out. There’s something being shared between Hiromu and Ramirez, something he’s missing.

“I’ll send you a report for comparison. These wounds look familiar.” Hiromu steps away from the body, his head bowing for a moment. “If you can send your report to the station, we’d be grateful.” Hiromu nods to Ramirez, and taps Lee’s shoulder on his way past, out of the examining room.

“How did you find out who she was?” Lee bumps Hiromu’s shoulder as they walk along the long, dim corridor out of the morgue towards the light of outside.

“I did some police work.” Hiromu chuckles. “Honestly, I figured she was out on a Wednesday night, so she’d have probably gotten ready in the office bathroom instead of going home. An assumption on my part, but usually, if you’re going out for the night with the office, you’re not going to go far from work. So, I had a wander around the area, and got lucky.” Hiromu gets into Lee’s car, leaning back in the passenger’s seat.

“Lucky?” Lee gets behind the wheel, and rests his wrists on it. “You’re a good detective, Hiromu.” He doesn’t say anything to that. He closes his eyes, his lips pressed together. “The report you’re going to give to Ramirez?”

“I’ve never told you why I’m here, did I?” Hiromu doesn’t move, his voice as still as his body.

“No.” Lee’s reply comes out too soft, and meek. He clears his throat, and takes hold of the wheel, turning away from Hiromu. There’s something strange about him being so still.  

“My partner is missing.” A soft thud draws Lee’s attention. Hiromu’s head is pressed back against the headrest. “There’s a big case, back in Tokyo.” Hiromu sighs. “Ten dead women, with marks on their necks, and no blood in their bodies.”

“Ten?” Hiromu nods. His eyebrows draw-in, his lips pursed. Lee finds himself rubbing his fingers together. He wants to smooth the furrows from Hiromu’s brow. He looks so very unlike himself in that moment.

“Yeah, it’s a big case, still… I need to find my partner.” Hiromu turns his head, smiling softly at Lee. His hair is tumbling over his face, his eyes as soft as his smile. It’s easy to appreciate how attractive Hiromu is in moments like this. “My first partner at least, right, partner?” He grins. Whatever spell the sunlight, and the warmth of the car were conspiring to weave dissipates. Lee starts the car. “Where are we going?”

“You were investigating the dead women back in Tokyo?” Lee doesn’t answer Hiromu’s question. He’s not sure where they’re going. He’s mostly driving to think.

“No…I’m not investigating it. Senior detectives are on this case.” Hiromu’s busy typing on his phone.

“Are you going to be able to get the casefiles to share?” The only response he gets from Hiromu is a vague _hmm_. “So, your partner is missing?” Another _hmm_. “How does that lead to you being in Mexico, Hiromu?” That finally draws his attention from his phone. He looks oddly hurt by Lee’s question, or maybe his tone. It had been a little blunt.

“He got on a plane at Narita. He didn’t get off.” Flat, cold, blunt; three things Hiromu isn’t very often. There must be something in Lee’s expression, because Hiromu blinks too rapidly for a moment, and huffs a quiet sigh. “There’s footage of him entering the airport, wandering around, going through the gate. His ticket was used to get on the plane. The airhostess remembered him boarding. There’s no record of him getting off. No footage of him from Mexico City at all.”

“What?” Lee pulls into the station’s parking lot, parking in his space. Hiromu looks uncomfortable, like he needs to be moving. Hiromu isn’t the type to be still for too long, and when he has to, he fidgets.

“Simply, he got on a plane. He didn’t get off.” Hiromu gets out of the car, striding towards the station. It’s a strange story. People don’t vanish from an aeroplane. He rubs his temple. Hiromu’s vanished into the station. A strange story from a strange man. He’s only been in Mexico for around a month. In a month a dead woman, with strange wounds on her neck, and very little blood in her body.

“Hiromu,” Lee approaches his partner, leaning his hip against his desk. “Can I see the murder file from Tokyo?” Hiromu looks up at him, and nods.

“As soon as I get it, I’ll give you a copy.” Hiromu returns to his typing. Lee sits in his own seat. His thoughts are churning. He needs some answers. A month. He needs dates. Ten dead women. He considers Hiromu, busy typing opposite him. The sunlight is catching in his hair, long and thick, a chaotic shamble of tousled inky waves, there’s hints of red in his hair, like it was dyed a long time ago and there’s still hints of blood red left over. Hiromu’s a good-looking man. Plenty of women flirt with him, plenty of female police officers have asked Lee if he’s single. He needs dates for those ten dead women before he lets these thoughts go any further. Ten dead women. He pushes away from his desk, and goes to stand behind Hiromu.

“I’m gonna get some coffee, you want a cup?” A _hmm_ from Hiromu. On his computer screen are photographs from the scene of the murder of Katerina Vasquez. Ten dead women no more, now it’s eleven.


	4. Family Dinner

Lee’s brother is basically nocturnal. He always has been. He can remember the arguments their mother used to have with him about getting up for school. Rush would grumble and complain, trying to beg out of going, and their mother would stand with her hands on her hips, scowling at him until he did as he was told. He’d taken to their father’s work as soon as he was legally allowed to engage in illegal acts. It’s a constant relief to Lee that his father has never tried to use his position as a police officer to gain an insider perspective on things. His father seems, if not happy, then at least content to allow Lee to have his dalliance with the right side of the law, firm in the belief that eventually he’ll see that the right side is actually the wrong one. Lee hasn’t yet, and doesn’t expect to, but he knows his father is waiting all the same.

“Well, well, little detective, you decide to join your family for dinner tonight, eh?” Rush being in their family home for dinner is rare. He’s wearing a brilliant, if lazy grin, a bottle of beer in one hand, and his chin in the other.

“It’s Thursday, I’m always home for dinner on a Thursday.”

“He is.” Lee’s mother wraps him up in a hug, kissing his cheeks fondly. “My good little boy comes home to his mother every week, unlike the other two, who I only see when they need something.” She levels Rush with a look Lee is glad he’s not been on the receiving end of in a long time.

“Mama! How can you say such things about me? Did I not bring you, my beautiful mother, flowers?” Rush is grinning, his best good son smile stretching his lips. Their mother is, as always, charmed by her eldest son.

“True…and very pretty flowers they are, my awful son.” Their mother pets Rush’s hair on her way past him, smiling fondly. “Now, you two take a seat.” She comes back with serving dishes of food.

“I knew I could smell something delicious.” Their father, Bestia, chuckles as he sits down at the dinner table. “We’re two down?” Missing from this family dinner is Lee’s middle brother and sister. “What terrible children we’ve raised that they won’t come and eat their mother’s delicious cooking.” He snags his wife by her waist, pressing a kiss to the nearest part of her as she sets more food on the table.

“Hmm, enough from you.” She sits down, with a nod, waiting for Bestia to lead grace. It’s a quick thing, without much _grace_ as it always is when he does it. “Now, eat up.”

“So, how many parking tickets you give out today?” Rush and teasing go hand in hand, his expression the same as it always is when he’s trying to goad an indignant reaction out of Lee.

“I’m not a traffic cop.”

“Anymore.” Their father adds on with a smile. “But anything we should know about?” His concern for the family business evident. The family business is slightly on the other side of the law to Lee. His father had never complained about two of his sons going into law enforcement, but he’s made it clear that he expects, with time, they’ll both come to work with and for him.

“Nothing he’d know about, papa.” Rush is definitely trying to poke something out of him tonight. He’s grinning like a child, more interested in teasing Lee than his dinner.

“I was assigned a new case.” Lee offers absently, taking a mouthful of rice. These weekly visits home are a blessing. He never learned how to cook like his mother, and even something as simple as her rice is better than anything he can buy from a street vendor.

“New case?” His mother turns to him, her lips pursed. “It’s not that poor girl they found in the alley is it?”

“Nah, can’t be. Lee’s in Vice, aren’t you?” Rush is resting his elbow on the table, his chin on his fist. He looks slightly less jovial.

“I’ve not been in Vice for like three months, _asshole_.” He tacks the insult on under his breath, knowing his brother will hear, but hoping his mother won’t. His ear is cuffed. He’s always underestimated her hearing.

“Language. Our little detective is in Homicide now.” She beams. “A real detective, investigating murders like in the movies.” She had looked so pleased when he’d told her, and made a ridiculously massive celebratory dinner for him, that Rush had missed because of _business_. “One day, they’ll make TV plays about your brother.” She fusses with Lee’s hair, ignoring his subtle protests.

“So, is it the alley chick?” His father asks. His interest is clearly piqued.

“Hmm, yeah, it is.” Lee ducks out from his mother’s fussing, intent on eating his dinner.

“What do you know so far?” Rush asks, his teasing tone is back, clearly not expecting much from him.

“I didn’t tell you this, but we know her name, and where she worked.” Rush’s eyebrow raises at that statement.

“Where? She was found on the edge of Terrible’s turf. He’s not happy that people are murdering folk near where he keeps order.” Bestia is frowning, chasing food around his dinner plate with his fork.

“I don’t imagine uncle would be happy.” Uncle Terrible is rarely happy, unless he’s with his dogs. His rescue centre is vast, and much more comfortable than his home. “Anyway, she worked for an insurance firm.”

“Insurance? Interesting.” Bestia leans back in his chair, sipping at his beer. “Which firm, I’ll ask some questions. For Terrible’s sake, this needs solving as quickly as possible, so on this occasion we’ll help the police, right Rush?” Rush nods, his expression unreadable, like he’s deep in thought.

“I’ll send you the name, remember, you didn’t get this from me, just like I won’t get any leads from you, papa.” Lee grins at his father, trying, but failing, to duck out from the affectionate hair ruffle he gets from him. “It’s the weirdest thing though…what are the news saying?”

“Nothing, just another dead girl.” Lee’s mother clicks her tongue. “It’s so sad…probably gangs, or one of those _tourists_.” She swipes the bottle of beer from Bestia, and drains a good portion. “A young woman out there trying to live her life, and she ends up dead.” The rest of the beer goes. “If anything happens to your sister, I’ll kill all three of you.” She makes to stand, but Bestia is on his feet before her.

“Relax, love. I’ll get you a beer of your own, and once the boys go, some dessert.” He drops a kiss to her hair, and comes back with beers for everyone. “So, this dead girl? You say it’s interesting?”

“Weird more than interesting.”

“Dead girls are nothing new.” Rush mutters, finally settling into eating. His head is bowed, his eyebrows still furrowed.

“Dead girls with no blood in them are new though.” Lee counters, watching to see his reaction. Rush’s head snaps up.

“No blood?” An indignant question from his mother. “Is it not enough to take the poor girl’s life, they have to take her blood too?” She sips more sedately at her beer. “Her poor parents.” She shakes her head, and scoots her chair closer to Bestia, snuggling against him, as he murmurs soft nonsense into her hair.

“No blood?” Rush sounds confused more than anything, staring blankly at Lee, even when he nods in response. “What do you mean she has _no blood_?”

“I mean, it’s gone…” Lee trails off, thinking of Katerina Vasquez, slumped against a wall, a pool of her own blood formed around her, her thick hair clinging slightly to the brick work. “My partner-“

“You have a partner now?” Lee’s mother asks from her spot tucked under his father’s chin.

“Yeah, they teamed me up with a guy from Japan.”

“Oh-ho? Isn’t that a coincidence! Rush has himself a friend from Japan too now. Odd guy…weird hair, and more forehead than three people combined.” He laughs, and Rush rolls his eyes.

“He’s here on business, be nice, papa.” Rush seems to be trying to wave his new friend away from the conversation, but it’s lingering in Lee’s mind. He needs dates. He needs to see that file from Tokyo. He needs a description of this _business friend_ , maybe Hiromu will know him, maybe they can work together to solve not just a local crime, but an international one. He’s getting ahead of himself.

“So, the guy from Japan have a name?” Lee’s mother has settled herself in his father’s lap, leaning back against his broad chest, smiling happily in his embrace. His parents have the best relationship he’s seen; soft, warm, supportive – they set a good example, and high standard for his own expectations of relationships. It’s almost no surprise he’s still single. The smile his mother’s wearing in the protective cage of his father’s arms brings the memory of Hiromu in the car that afternoon to his mind, which isn’t a train of thought he’s going to go down.

“Takahashi,” Lee scans his memories for something that will raise Hiromu’s standing in his mother’s mind, he wants her to be impressed with his partner. “He’s the one who found out the dead girl’s name and employers.” That makes his mother smile even more.

“This Takahashi have a first name? My Japanese business associate,” not friend anymore Lee notes, “has had dealings with a Takahashi.”

“Hiromu.” Rush relaxes at that, leaning back in his chair, calmly sipping at his beer.

“I’ll ask if he knows this one.” He grins, a hint of wolfishness in the expression. Lee silently hopes Rush’s associate doesn’t know him for Hiromu’s sake. “I should make a move.” Rush drains his beer. “Thank you for dinner, mama.” He gets to his feet. Their mother stands too, coming to embrace her oldest boy, saying something into his ear that has Rush smiling fondly, and hugging her tightly. “I’ll come see you later in the week. I’ll bring more flowers.”

“That’d be nice.” She’s fussing with Rush’s hair, settling his mane of curls neatly over his shoulders. “Your hair’s getting so long… Your uncle must be jealous.” She laughs, joking over the recent haircut Terrible had, which had seen the loss of his spectacular ocean of hair. She and Rush make for the door, their soft chatter fading down the corridor.

“This dead girl…what do you think happened?” Bestia leans forward, levelling Lee with an assessing look.

“I don’t know, papa. There weren’t really any marks on her, just one faded bruise and these strange holes in her neck. It might be gang related, maybe…I don’t know.” He can’t say why he doesn’t mention the Tokyo murders. He should, his father is beyond tight-lipped when it comes to Lee’s work, but he keeps the knowledge of the ten dead Japanese girls to himself, for now at least.

“I’ll ask around, son.” Bestia leans back in his chair, sipping his beer with a pensive look on his face. “I want you to solve this case.” His father’s tone is the same one he’d use when Lee was a child and he was being told to clean his room or help his mother.

“I want to solve it too, papa.” Lee mutters, rubbing his temples. “You know the name of Rush’s new friend?”

“Naito…it’s the only name I have for him.” Bestia casts his gaze to the ceiling. “I do know he used to run with Yujiro Takahashi… Takahashi is into ladies…” His tone is heavy with scorn.

“Transporting?”

“Profiting in all the ways a man can, detective.” The man opposite him, for a moment isn’t his father, it’s La Bestia, ruthless defender of those weaker than him, ruthless modern-day Robin Hood seeking justice in a more practical way than the law. “If you can…well, the world would be a better place without the likes of him…caught up with that Bullet Club too these days, apparently.”

“Hmm…” He doesn’t want to tangle with Bullet Club, international crime syndicates aren’t really the realm of a Homicide cop, but maybe it’s an angle to discuss with Hiromu. He has a lot to discuss with Hiromu tomorrow. “I’ll text you the name of that insurance firm, maybe you can find out if they were caught up in anything for me?”

“Trying to impress the new partner?” Bestia laughs, downing his beer as Lee’s mother comes back into the room. “Alright son, time for you to go home, and for your mother to get her dessert.” Lee shakes his head, and goes to hug his mother goodbye before she can be caught by his father.

“Same time next week, mama?” He asks, kissing her cheeks.

“Of course,” she kisses his forehead, and leads him to the front door. “Please, you try and help that girl’s family, okay? I…this city gets more and more dangerous…I worry.” She kisses his forehead again.

“Don’t worry, your son is on the case, mama. It’ll be solved.” He leaves her with a smile full of conviction he mostly feels.


	5. Just A Smudge

Hiromu’s snarling in Japanese. Lee’s never heard him either snarl, or speak Japanese, at least he assumes it’s Japanese. He sounds so very different talking in his native tongue. His voice is a deep, melodic rumble, his face is more animated, the hand not holding the phone is waving around like he thinks the person he’s talking to can see him. He jerks his head in greeting when Lee settles into his own seat, still talking at the phone.

“Arigatou.” He concludes the call with the only piece of Japanese Lee is certain he knows, and flops into his chair. He looks tired, exhausted even.

“Rough night?” Lee tries for jovial, and thinks he does a passible job of it. Hiromu’s running his hands through his hair.

“I’ve spent most of it shouting at people in Tokyo. Kept my poor kitty up for hours.” There’s a hint of smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “They’ve finally agreed to email over the files though, so that’s something.” Hiromu smiles at Lee through a tangle of his hair and fingers. “Only took hours, but it’s something, right?”

“How long will it take to get to you?” Lee gets to his feet, heading to the coffee machine near the printer in the centre of the room. He gets a couple of coffees, and hands one to Hiromu. “You got attacked by mosquitos?” There are marks on his neck; a couple of little red bumps like mosquito bites, with a faintly darker ring around them.

“Hmm?” Hiromu’s eyes are closed, blowing at his coffee. “No, I don’t think so.”

“On your neck.” Lee taps his own neck, chancing a sip at his steaming cup of coffee. Hiromu’s fluttering his fingers around his neck, missing the marks entirely. “Here.” The moment Lee takes hold of Hiormu’s wrist he regrets it, but he’s committed to guiding his hand to the right place now.

“Huh.” Hiromu’s fingers stroke over the marks. Lee retreats to his own seat to save himself the embarrassment of standing around watching. “Was probably the bedbugs, or cockroaches.” He grumbles, finally taking a drink of his coffee. “I’m hoping that’s a problem Señor Daryl can solve for me, or I’m gonna need to get a more expensive place to live.”

“You picked a stray cat hoping it’d go bug hunting for you?” Lee laughs at him. Hiromu levels him with a surprisingly serious look.

“My cat back home, Daryl-san, is the best bug hunter you’ve ever seen. There’s not a single uninvited guest in my whole room.” Hiromu grins, and slides his phone across the table. His lockscreen is a picture of a black and white cat, beneath its paw is the largest moth Lee’s ever seen.

“Daryl-san?” The cat has a dismissively smug look on its face, still it’s very cute.

“It is. Handsome, isn’t he?” Hiromu fetches his phone back, smiling at it fondly. “He’s a very good kitty. I hope Señor Daryl can live up to his legacy.” He rubs his eyes, and picks his coffee back up. “Email should be here soon. You want the original Japanese, or the translation I’m going to do for Ramirez?” It hadn’t occurred to Lee that a Japanese police report would be in Japanese until now. He’d always known, objectively, but he’d never actually thought about what that would mean. He can’t read Japanese. He can only hope that dates are recorded in a way he can understand; it’s the dates he’s most interested in after all.

“Give me the original, Google exists for a reason, right?” Lee smiles, Hiromu’s eyes narrow.

“You think I’m involved, don’t you?” Hiromu rests his elbows on his desk, and his chin on his folded hands. The smile on his lips is half-dagger, half-seduction. “I mean, I can see why you might think that. I arrive and a few weeks later there’s a dead woman with no blood. Then you find out that there’s been ten other murders similar to her’s in Tokyo, where I come from.” The seductive edge to Hiromu’s smile falls away, leaving only the danger of his smile. “That’s what you think, right?”

“I…” Lee debates lying. Telling Hiromu _I’ve thought you might be a murder_ isn’t going to endear his partner to him any, but he’s more than certain Hiromu would know he was being lied to. “It’s crossed my mind.”

“Hmm…well, I guess me telling you I’m not isn’t going to help.” Hiromu rubs his temples. “The first murder happened when I got moved out of uniform. I’d been in uniform for years though. I was even on traffic duty.... So, maybe you think I gathered my murderous inclinations in uniform, and then released them once I was a detective?”

“You have to admit, from it’s not an unreasonable thing for me to assume. There’s never been anything like this until you arrived.” Lee swirls his coffee around his cup, considering the contents, avoiding looking at Hiromu until he snorts a dismissive little laugh.

“I can see your reasoning, but…” Hiromu smiles wryly, and shakes his head. “I know I’m not a murderer.”

“Well, a murderer would say that.” Lee laughs. Hiromu shakes his head, leaning back in his chair. “I’m clutching at straws, Hiromu.”

“You and me both.” He smiles at Lee from his reclined position. “I’m not even on the case back home, but…” He trails off with a sigh. “It’s a strange case.” It’s a weak conclusion, but one Lee finds himself agreeing with. Hiromu closes his eyes, still sipping at his coffee. Lee finally logs into his computer, finding Ramirez’s report in his inbox. There’s nothing too unexpected. Blood alcohol levels are elevated, but nowhere near lethal. The rest of the blood work is interesting though.  

“You seen this?” Lee half considers kicking Hiromu’s ankle. He looks to have fallen asleep in his chair.

“Seen what?” He cracks one eye slightly open. Behind his desk is the window, the sun is in the right position to shine through his hair just right, catching the reddish strands.

“Ramirez’s report is in.” Lee turns his attention back to his screen, shaking thoughts of Hiromu’s hair from his mind. Hiromu groans as he sits up straighter, then the sound of his mouse clicking. He draws air through his teeth. He says something in Japanese Lee doesn’t know the meaning of, but knows the tone. Hiromu flops back in his chair again, his face turned up to the ceiling. There’s a mole on his throat. Lee swallows far too deeply. “What you were expecting?” Hiromu doesn’t answer. He starts typing, the keyboard of his computer makes far too much noise, or maybe it’s the office that’s too quiet. There are a few other detectives there, but they all seem busy with their own work. Hiromu is silent, typing quickly, his face blank. In the muted office, Lee’s phone sounds infinitely too loud.

_Meet me in 20 – Rush_

He knows where Rush will be, and considers for a moment if he wants to invite Hiromu along with him. He looks busy, intent on whatever it is he’s doing. The idea of Rush and Hiromu in the same place, the idea of them talking to each, the idea of painfully observant Hiromu taking one look at Rush and _knowing_ he’s not on the right side of the law. He’s not sure it’s something to risk. Lee’s gets to his feet. Hiromu keeps typing.

“Bring me back some good coffee, filled with caramel syrup.” Hiromu doesn’t look up at him. He leaves.

Lee doesn’t like this coffee shop. It’s too dark, and smells of cigarette smoke. Rush likes it though. He always arranges to meet Lee here. He always orders two espressos. He always sits in the back booth, where the light is too low, and the sun can’t reach. He always comes alone. The two of them sit, and talk for hours on these meetings. It’s nice. It’d be nicer if it wasn’t for the darkness. It’s always felt strange.

“Hey, little brother.” Rush jerks his chin in greeting, and pushes out the chair opposite him with his foot. “I got your coffee.” On the table are three cups. Two cups are full. The third is empty.  

“You’ve brought a friend?” Lee sits on the chair, staring at the third cup.

“I was hoping you’d bring your new _partner_.” Rush laughs, but doesn’t answer, a dismissively laugh meant to change the subject. There’s a dark smudge on the rim of the third cup. “You took forever to get here, I almost thought I’d need to drink these two as well.” A dark smudge that looks a little like lipstick of all things. Maybe Rush brought a girl with him, and had just chased her away.

“Nah, he’s busy. So, what do you wanna talk about?”

“Katerina Vasquez.” Rush picks up his coffee, and sips at it. “Dad sent me with information for you.” He sets a neatly folded piece of paper on the table.

“You read it?” Their father has neat handwriting; a tidy cursive, each letter almost the same size, easy to read if you can read cursive, impossible if you can’t.

“Nah, I asked around, but there’s nothing. Just some girl, you know.” Rush shrugs, and drains his coffee. He set the cup down, twisting it absently on the table so he has something to do with his hands. Rush has always had too much energy, always been fidgety, unable to keep himself entirely still.

“It seems like such a dramatic way to kill someone who wasn’t important.” Lee drinks his coffee, emptying the cup in one go. “We got the autopsy results back this morning.” Rush raises an eyebrow. “She was drunk, but not incapacitated. They found something in the blood that was left in her though.”

“Drugged?” Rush has stopped fiddling with his empty cup, instead his leg is bouncing, slow and steady.

“Not like _drugged_ drugged…there were some unexpected chemicals in her blood.” Lee slips the paper from his father in the inner pocket of his jacket. “Anticoagulants…things to stop her blood from clotting. The only reason she had any left was because she was sitting.” Rush’s eyebrows knit. He looks uncomfortable. “I don’t get it.” Lee sighs, Rush taps his ankle with his foot.

“You’re a good detective, Lee. You’ll solve this.” The smile on Rush’s face is warm and kind, brotherly.

“Hiromu might.” Lee grumbles the confession. It doesn’t sound like a confession, but it feels like one.

“Ah! That reminds me. I asked Naito about your partner.” Rush’s grinning, the teasing grin of when they were kids.

“And what did your new Yakuza friend have to say?” Lee returns that teasing grin.

“He’s not Yakuza, he’s a undercover cop.” Rush is smiling, an unfamiliar smile, one Lee isn’t sure he likes. It’s too small, too soft. It reminds him of the smiles their father gives to their mother.

“I’ll take it dad doesn’t know he’s undercover then?”

“He does not.” Rush nods, that odd smile vanishing. “Did you ask your partner if he knows Naito?” Lee shakes his head. He didn’t, and really the only reason he didn’t is Hiromu had called him out on thinking he might be a serial killer. “I forgot to ask Naito about him too, then.” Rush is rubbing his thumb over the third cup, wiping the smudge from its rim. “How are you doing, little brother? I didn’t get a chance to ask you last night.”

“Why? Don’t I look okay?” Lee laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. He should look okay, he slept relatively well, or at least he spent a relatively long time in bed. Sleep had been a fleeting comfort. His mind had been churning. Katerina Vasquez’s body, her pool of blood, the red tint in Hiromu’s hair. He should ask about that. It’s probably just a remnant from an old dye job. It sticks in Lee’s mind, to be poked at randomly, like he thinks he can pick something important from it. He more than likely can’t. It’s probably nothing, just a fashion choice made long ago.

“You look tired.” Rush leans over and ruffles his hair. “You’re not gonna get laid with bags like that under your eyes.”

“I’m looking to solve a murder, not get laid, Rush!” Lee kicks Rush’s ankle.

“Yeah… Dad couldn’t find much on her. I couldn’t find much on her. She just seems to have been a very ordinary person, living an ordinary life.”

“She died an extraordinary death though.” Lee sighs.

“Well, that’s true.” Rush rubs his jaw. “If I hear anything that might be useful, I’ll let you know.”

“Who was with you?” Lee asks, nodding absently in acknowledgement of Rush’s offer of help.”

“With me?” Rush laughs cheerfully. “When?”

“Just now. That cup had dark lipstick on it, so who’s the girl?” Lee grins. It’s not often he gets to tease Rush, and he’s always a little grateful for. Rush barks a laugh, and shakes his head.

“I was chatting with no one you’d know, or need to know, officer.” With that Rush gets to his feet, ruffles Lee’s hair, and collects the three dirty cups. “I’ll see you at dinner next week.”

“Yeah.” Lee gets up, and follows Rush to the counter. “You need a ride anywhere?”

“I’m good.” A car with heavily tinted windows pulls up. “Later.” Rush gives him a tight hug, complete with an urging to be careful, before he gets into the car.

Hiromu’s still at his desk, still typing, when Lee returns. He glances up with a slight smile, that blossoms into a beautiful smile when Lee sets a takeout coffee down near him.

“I could kiss you.” Hiromu grins, and bites some of the whipped cream tower on top of the coffee. His attention returns straight back to whatever he’s working on. “So, where were you?” Hiromu’s divided attention is something Lee can’t say if he’s happy about. Hiromu is far too observant, even when it appears you don’t have all of his attention.

“My brother needed to talk to me.”  Lee watches Hiromu, trying to spot any sign of suspicion in him. There’s nothing, Hiromu doesn’t look up from his screen.

“You’ve a brother?” He sounds distracted, his keyboard is clattering softly. Hiromu types with the skill of a man who has had to type far too much.

“I’ve two. How about you?”

“Older brother.” Hiromu pokes his head around his screen. “So, is everything okay with your brother?”

“He’s good.” Lee mutters. “Do you know a man called Naito?”

“Naito what?” Hiromu’s typing doesn’t slow. Maybe he’s not aware of this _undercover_ policeman Rush claims to have dealings with.

“Tetsuya.” Hiromu hits one key repeatedly. Lee can’t see what key it was, but by the rapid fire, and volume of the key clicks, he’d guess it was backspace, which is interesting.

“I knew a Naito Tetsuya when I was younger, but…I’ve not seen him in a while.” Hiromu’s typing has resumed its normal rhythm.

“Eh, it’s maybe nothing. If I hear more about him, I’ll let you know.” Lee mutters, deciding he’s had enough of being suspicious of Hiromu for now. He pulls the paper from his father out of his pocket.

“Did your dad have any interesting information?” Lee needs to remember to not underestimate Hiromu. He’s far too observant, and far too good at his job. Maybe he shouldn’t ever stop being suspicious of him.

“I’m gonna follow up on his leads.” Lee hopes he kept his surprise and almost annoyance to himself. He doesn’t want Hiromu to know how easily he can get under Lee’s skin. He gets under there far too much. Ever since the day he met Hiromu, he’s been worming his way under Lee’s skin, an unavoidable presence both physically, and mentally.

His father’s notes aren’t much of anything really. A few people to speak with in person, a few he can call. He makes the calls he can and preps a list to give Hiromu when he calls it quits for the day. He’s not sure that he’s got any solid leads, but he’s got some leads for leads, and that feels like an accomplishment. He has some solid work to do tomorrow at least.

“I know you said you wanted the original,” Hiromu stands up, and walks over to the printer in the middle of the office. A few minutes later, “my translation’s as good as I could make it.” Hiromu smiles, his hand brushes Lee’s shoulder as he sets a sheath of paper down on Lee’s desk. “I’ve emailed you the original. So, you can spend tonight deciding if I’m a murderer or not.” Before Hiromu can leave, Lee catches his wrist, squeezing lightly.

“I don’t really think you’d a murderer, Hiromu.” He can’t bring himself to look at Hiromu, and he doesn’t know why. “I’ve some people for us to talk to tomorrow.”

“It’s a date.” Hiromu winks, and leaves the office. Lee checks his email, and opens Google Translate. Hiromu might have spent all day translating, but he’s still not proven to not be a murderer, and there’s no harm in taking advantage of modern technology.


	6. Naps in Sunbeams

The sun is too bright. He’s not adjusted to not being in it despite it being so long. It’s been lifetimes now, and still he almost misses being under the warmth of the sun. He certainly misses napping under the sun, which is a weird thing to miss, but there it is. He misses naps in sunbeams. It’s stupid, and deserves the laughter he gets whenever he mentions it.

“Your brother?” Rush nods at his question. He starts driving, going nowhere in particular. They’ve nowhere to be, not yet. They’ll be told when things are ready.

“Yeah…little Lee.” Rush ruffles his hair, lifting it from his neck. “It’s too fucking hot out there.” He grumbles, and rests his head back on the seat. “I’m glad you’ve got it nice and artic in here.” Rush reaches over, and squeezes his thigh. “You look pissed, Naito.” Rush leaves his hand on his thigh, his thumb moving absently.

“Yeah well.”  He doesn’t really have a good answer to that. “What does he know?”

“As much as we were told he’d know.” Rush takes his hand back, and laughs softly. “You’re upset he didn’t want to see you?”

“He can’t still be _that_ mad with me.” Naito grumbles, pulling up at the red light, squinting through the tinted windscreen.

“You killed a girl, and dragged his baby into things before he wanted him involved. Of course, he’s mad.” Rush laughs again. It’s a hollow laugh though. “He’ll come around.”

“Eventually.” Naito mutters. “He’s been mad at me for centuries now.”

“Well, you did get his baby killed, so…”

“I didn’t get him killed!” Naito snaps. It’s a sensitive subject, one he doesn’t like to discuss. What happened back then isn’t important, because everyone’s souls have reawakened. Soon enough, everything will be as it should be again. “Where is he?”

“Which one?” Naito shoots a withering glance at Rush, that is countered by the broad, fond smile stretching Rush’s lips.

“Baby is working, mama is playing house. All is as it will be for now.” Rush rubs his thumb over his cheek. “He’ll come around. He’s only one left to make his family complete.”

“Maybe then he’ll stop being mad at me.” Naito’s not hopeful. He’s been enduring anger for hundreds of years.

“After a decade or two, perhaps.” Rush laughs. Naito is pouting. A very conscious decision. Rush is weak to his pout. “Pareja.” A thumb swipes over his bottom lip. “Take us home, and I’ll make you feel better.” Naito nods vaguely. “Pareja?” Rush’s hand rests on his thigh. “He’ll come around soon.”

“He’s been sulking for literal centuries.” Naito sighs, and scrubs his forehead. “It doesn’t matter, like you say, we’ve found everyone, and soon enough everything will be perfect again.”

“It’ll take some time.” Rush mutters. “I still don’t feel myself.” A quiet admission.

“You’ve not been yourself for long.” Naito smiles over at him. “I’m taking blame for that, by the way.” Rush laughs at him.

“Well, it’s decidedly not your fault. I take full responsibility for my own being briefly dead.” Rush squeezes his thigh. “We weren’t even in the same country when I wasn’t myself.”

“That’s probably why it’s my fault.” Naito’s in a mood. He can feel something churning in the back of his mind, some unease he can’t put a finger on. It’s probably nothing. It’s probably just that he’s awake when he should be asleep.

“Pull over.” Rush has a commanding tone when he wants to; low and deep filled with compassion, but brokering no complaints. Naito pulls over. “I’m driving.” Rush gets out of the car, and with awkward clambering, Naito settles in the passenger’s seat.

“I miss him.”

“Who?” Rush glances over. Naito presses himself back against the seat. He misses the way things were before. He misses them all being together. He misses hunting together. He misses far too much. It’ll come back. He screws his eyes closed. Rush doesn’t push for an answer. Naito’s not sure he could narrow it down. It’s going to be a great relief when everyone is restored, when he’s able to wrap his arms around everyone again.

The driver’s side door slams shut. Naito blinks rapidly. He’d not noticed he’d fallen asleep. The passenger’s door opens. Rush is there, an umbrella over his head. He pets Naito’s hair absently, holding out his hand. Naito lets him pull him to his feet, and usher him into an apartment.

“This is home now?” It’s not the apartment they’d left. Rush laughs, and snags Naito’s waist.

“I was told that we were moving, and now we have.” He starts placing slow, wet kisses across Naito’s neck. It’s a sensitive area, it’s a sensitive place for all of them really, but for Naito it’s a particular weakness. It always makes him remember the night he was brought over, centuries ago now. Kisses to his neck always reminds him of his maker’s dark eyes, and sweet scent. He loves the man who made him, loves him possibly more than any other, possibly more than the man they’re there to restore, and he adores him greatly.

“Were you told why?” Naito leans his head forward, letting Rush collect his hair back, nipping at the nape of his neck.

“Closer to the baby.” Rush murmurs, his sharp teeth scraping over Naito’s neck. “This is his building. I told you that mama wanted to play house, and wants everyone nice and close while he does.” Rush’s hands settle on Naito’s waist, squeezing briefly, then sliding up under his shirt. “Baby’s very stressed apparently.”

“That girl?” Naito can’t say he regrets draining the girl from the club. He knows that his actions where expected, not much happens that hasn’t been planned for, even if his actions has sparked further annoyance to him.  

“Hmm,” Rush is caressing his chest, squeezing and stroking absently. “Poor baby’s all caught up in it. Mama’s very annoyed.”

“He’s been very annoyed for a _very_ long time.” Naito mutters, leaning his head back against Rush’s shoulder, his throat exposed. Rush’s hand wraps around it, squeezing just a little. “The sooner I’m allowed to apologise to him, the better.”

“It’s just a matter of waiting for mama to decide to take his baby back to his bosom.” Rush laughs, and pulls Naito’s shirt off, plastering himself to Naito’s back quickly. “Pretty mama, and his cute baby…have you seen him yet?”

“Hmm, back in Tokyo.” Naito tries to twist in Rush’s arms, tries to get a kiss, but is denied by Rush’s firm hold on him. “I was his superior for a little while, before I came back over here.”

“I can’t imagine mama was happy you got to talk to him first.” One of Rush’s hands has dipped beneath Naito’s waistband, down into his underwear to start toying with his dick. “He probably sent you over here to keep you from ruining his baby _again_.”

“The demon child is a demon no matter what.” Naito mutters, rocking slowly into Rush’s grip.

“Say what you will, but you love him all the same.” Rush laughs in his ear, and starts walking them forward. “To bed with you.”

“You gonna come?” Naito lets Rush guide him in the right direction. “I’m not in the mood for sleep.” Rush is still stroking his dick, making their journey slow and shuffling. Naito leans his head back, trying to catch Rush’s eye, trying to look tempting.

“Well, you’re gonna cum, if nothing else.” Rush laughs. The bedroom is black, pitch black, much better than the curtain muted light of the living room. The bed is vast, covered in thick black velvet, and one recently restored, and sound asleep, vampire. “Evil, move over.” The sleeping vampire grumbles, but does roll over. He cracks an eye open, and levels Naito and Rush with a look.

“I’ll sleep in the other room.” Evil gets to his feet. “Try and keep it down, hmm?” He leaves the room, the door clicking closed behind him.

“Is there even another room?” It feels like a stupid question. Evil is almost entirely himself once more, reality bending to his will more and more, just as it used to long ago.

“There will be.” Rush undoes Naito’s flies from behind, and eases his pants and underwear down his hips. “Go on, to bed with you.” He gives Naito a little shove forward. Naito steps out of his remaining clothes, and flops onto the bed. The thick velvet pillows around him. It brings back memories that have been buried far in the back of his mind. Having his whole family returned to him is so close he can almost taste it, waiting is getting tiring, but there’s a plan. He’s many things, but stupid enough to go against long established plans isn’t something even he would do.

“So…” Naito settles on his back, his legs akimbo. Rush considers him for a moment, then strips. Naito shifts up the bed, his head on the pillows.

“So?” Rush asks, kneeling between Naito’s thighs. “So…” Rush runs his hands up his thighs, up to his waist, and pulls him down a little. “Pareja, it’s been so long.”

“A few days isn’t that long.” Naito laughs. The last time they’d been in a position like this was after they’d drained that girl. Rush doesn’t answer him with words. A cool, slick finger penetrates. “Hurry.” A second finger, then a third. Despite being restored, being a reincarnation, Rush is still proficient at rushing to the main event of sex when it’s needed. His cock is still thick, and long, and breath-stealing. He still buries his length in Naito with one brutal, hard thrust, making Naito gasp and cling to his shoulders. “I don’t remember if I ever got used to this.” Rush has him folded in half, his knees almost at his ears, his nails biting into Rush’s shoulders.

“Used to what?” Naito manages to grind out. He’s missed Rush’s enthusiastic strength when it comes to sex.

“Used to how tight you are, pareja.” Rush leans down, finally kissing him. A kiss that feels like a battle, a battle Naito is happy to lose. Rush is benevolent conqueror, dominating the kiss. Naito has no answer to the comment. He clings on, his head falling back, baring his neck to Rush’s nipping and suckling. Naito’s mind is slipping from him, anything left on it is being driven out of him as Rush drives in. He’s drifted to a comfortable empty place, where only Rush is important. It’s something he’s missed. As good as sex with other people is, with Rush it’s _always_ all encompassing, he can just let go, he can let himself be reduced to nothing but feeling and keening. Rush takes his cock in hand, stroking him. “You paying attention, pareja?” Rush rumbles in his ear, his voice strained and deep. “You paying attention as I fuck you?” Naito’s heels dig into his back. He has no words to give Rush. His mind is blank. His body is alight. He’s doing nothing but paying attention to Rush’s actions.

“Mmm.” He moans. Rush’s hand moves faster, his thumb rubbing over the head. “Fuck.” He’s gasping, unable to form more than that.

“Close?” Rush bites his earlobe. Naito doesn’t answer, he tightens his body around Rush’s cock. “Pareja? Naito?” Rush murmurs softly in his ear. “Hey?”

“Hmm?” Naito drags the scattered parts of himself as back together as he can. Rush kisses him again. This time slower, gentler, less a battle more a dance, a dance Rush leads. He kisses Rush back as best he can. It’s almost impossible to focus though. His orgasm hits, stretching his comfortable blankness out a moment longer. He’s dimly aware of Rush’s cum entering him, slightly more aware of Rush pulling out, and getting off the bed. He should clean himself up. He’s going to trust Rush to do it for him.

“Move over.” The bed dips, only slightly. Naito does as he’s told. His arms wrap around the man beside him. “My baby won’t be back for a while, so…” Naito tugs him closer, pressing kisses to every part of him he can.

“So, we can have a nap together, Mama?”

“Go to sleep, Naito.”  Naito closes his eyes, he knows better than to argue with the one who brought him over, he knows better than to argue with the orders of Bushi.

 

 


	7. A Step in the Right Direction

“Morning.” He doesn’t get a _good_ from Hiromu, and really, it doesn’t feel like a _good_ morning. It’s not as bad as it could be, he’ll give this morning that, but it’s not by any imagining good. It’s far later than it should be, but it still feels far too early, because he’d not slept well last night. Between Google translate, and Hiromu’s Spanish, Lee hadn’t seen much in the way of sleep. It had been a good night though. He’d laid his suspicions regarding Hiromu and the dead women in Tokyo to rest. The dates don’t really match up. There’s some odd _almost_ correlations, but there’s nothing that really feels like it’s proof of anything untoward with Hiromu. There’s something there, something that ties him into it all, but only in the vaguest of ways that Lee can’t put a finger on properly. Hiromu isn’t a murderer, of that he’s mostly certain, but there is some connection between him and the dead women, maybe, possibly, at least that’s what his gut tells him, and he’s learnt over the years to trust his gut in matters like this. “You have a rough night?”

“Huh?” Hiromu, holding a steaming cup of coffee, is in front of him. “Yeah, was seeing what I could make of those reports you gave me.” Lee is very proud of managing a full sentence.

“And?” Hiromu leaves him the coffee, and returns to his own seat.

“And, you’ll be pleased to hear you’re probably not a serial killer.”

“Probably? Well, good, that’s a relief.” Hiromu laughs, a deep genuine laugh, that has his head flopping back, exposing the little mole on his throat.

“Your cat didn’t get those bugs I see.” Lee’s fingers twitch. The little marks on Hiromu’s neck are still there, not any different to yesterday; two odd little red marks on his deep gold skin, standing out just enough that they’re easy to see, if you’re looking for them.

“Not yet.” Hiromu’s fingers brush over the marks, lingering on them slightly. “I’m still hopeful.” He starts typing at something, the sound of his fingers dancing over the keys of his computer soothing in their steadiness. “What’s our plans for today then? We have some people to talk to, right?”

“A few. Have Katerina’s parents arrived yet? I think we should talk to them, see if they know something.”

“I don’t think they’re coming. Her brother came for the body, and took it back to her hometown this morning.” Hiromu rubs the back of his neck, then his temples. “I don’t think anyone _knows_ anything about why she might have died. All the people I’ve spoken to about her say the same things. She was a nice girl. She lived a quiet, plain life. By all accounts, the only remarkable thing about Katerina Vasquez was the fact it looks like a vampire got a hold of her.”

“Tch, vampire. Don’t mock her death, Hiromu. She died in that alley, alone and afraid. We owe her respect and justice, not bad taste jokes about Dracula.” Lee blows at the coffee before chancing a sip. It’s so hot it tastes of nothing but pain and wakefulness. It’s what he needs this morning.  

“Hmm…” Hiromu doesn’t really say anything in response. His fingers have quietened, his gaze fixed on his computer. “What if it wasn’t a joke?” He asks eventually. Lee had honestly been expecting this kind of nonsense from Hiromu as soon as they’d been assigned to this case. He’s almost surprised vampires took so long to come up really.

“Hiromu.” The tone he speaks Hiromu’s name in seems to spark something rebellious in him. His eyes narrow, his lips form the most enticingly ferocious grin. Hiromu looks ready for a fight. Lee sets his mouth to a firm line, summoning his most determined stare. It feels like it’s falling flat. Hiromu still looks primed. “Don’t mock this dead woman.”

“What,” Hiromu stands, “if,” he takes a step closer, “I’m,” another, “not.” His face is too close. His nose almost pressed to Lee’s.

“There’s no such thing as vampires, Hiromu.” Lee leans back in his chair, needing the distance for reasons he won’t think about.

“Hmm.” Hiromu straightens up. His gaze is heavy. He’s a handsome man. That means nothing. He _is_ a handsome man though. “Eleven women, Lee. Eleven women with no blood. Eleven women, with no blood, in two different countries.”

“There’s no such thing as vampires, Takahashi.” He shouldn’t have snapped, shouldn’t have sounded so dismissive, because Hiromu looks at him with that challenge in his eyes again. He’s a handsome man, and that shouldn’t matter, but it feels like it does.

“Hmm.” Hiromu sits back down, the by now familiar sound of him typing coming quickly. “Don’t you have people to speak with?”

“You’re not coming with me?” Lee should go talk to the people his father had flagged as potential sources of information, people that Hiromu had, only moments ago, spoken about going to see with him.

“No, I don’t think so.” Hiromu doesn’t look up. Lee stands, and ignores the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Partners are supposed to work together.

“You’re sure?” Lee hovers behind Hiromu, staring down at his screen. It’s covered in squiggles that Lee assumes is Japanese. He’s sure it says something important, but he can’t make it out for the life of him. “I’d appreciate your input.”

“Really?” Hiromu snorts dismissively.

“You’re a good detective, Takahashi.” Lee pats him on his shoulder, the ends of Hiromu's hair are surprisingly soft as they brush the back of his hand. “It’d be nothing but a benefit for you to come with me.” Hiromu sighs, and leans back in his chair, staring up at Lee.

“Really?” He repeats. Lee tries to focus on anything but the length of Hiromu’s neck, and the little mole on his throat. It’s more important to think about how good his partner is at getting information out of people, how good he is at being a detective, and not how soft the ends of his hair are.

“Really.” Lee takes a single step back. It shouldn’t feel like it’s helping him think, but it does. “I’d like you to come with me.”

“Fine.” Hiromu slaps his thighs, and gets to his feet. “I don’t know that any of these people are going to be helpful.” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “Although, I don’t know who would be.”

“We’ll find someone.” Lee tamps down the urge to fidget as Hiromu stalls, fussing with things on his desk. “C’mon, let’s get moving.”

“Yeah.” Hiromu grabs a file from his desk, and tucks it under his arm. “I don’t know that I don’t think it’s _vampires_ , you know.” He says once they’re out of the station, and sitting in Lee’s car.

“Hiromu, there is no such thing as vampires.”

“I’m not saying I think it’s storybook, blood sucking monsters, but…” He trails off with a sigh. “I think that Vasquez and the Tokyo killings are linked.”

“Well, we agree there.” Lee mutters, pulling out of the parking lot, and heading towards their first interview.

“I think they’re linked to Watanabe, my missing partner, too.” Hiromu blurts it out in a rush, like he wanted the words vocalised before he could change his mind. Lee gives him a quick look, trying to gage his mood. He’s looking out the window though.

“What makes you say that?” He’ll have to find out more the old-fashioned way, by asking.

“The dates match up with his movements.” Hiromu mutters, and rubs at his neck. “I really need to do something about those bugs.”

“I’ll get you some bug traps.” Lee grins over at him. Hiromu smiles at him wryly, and leans his head against the window. “We’re going to meet with the manager of the insurance store first… A Mr Alejandro Torres.”

“Mr Torres is going to tell us that Katerina Vasquez was an ordinary woman, not bad, but not great at her job, well liked in the office, and no, he can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt her.” Hiromu’s eyes are closed, his temple is still leaning against the window, Lee should be looking at the road.

“Yeah, probably, but my sources tell me that Mr Torres has a bit of a gambling habit.” That catches Hiromu’s attention; his eyes open at least. “And that he’s been borrowing money from people who might want it back.”

“Hmm…it might be worth going down that route, the only real question is why target Vasquez? Torres is married?”

“Married, two kids, boy and a girl, four and one.” Lee rattles off without thought.

“Why not target the wife, or the kids if he’s late with payment?”

“Unless he was having an affair with Vasquez.” It feels unkind - sacrilegious almost - to suggest, but they have to explore every possibility, even ones that paint the dead in an unkind light.

“Someone would have to know about an affair for them use Vasquez.” Hiromu’s eyes have fallen closed. “I need to see what she was working on.”

“Huh?” Lee’s never been more grateful to a traffic light before. Hiromu’s whole tone and demeanour has changed. He’s sitting bolt upright, his eyes wide and almost frantic.

“You wanna share?” Lee’s fingers feel twitchy, he ignores them and tries to keep his eyes on the road.

“I had a thought. I need to see if I’m right. There might be a connection.” He’s rambling, his words flowing from Spanish to Japanese and back again, like he’s forgotten that Lee can only understand one of the two languages.

“You gonna share this thought with me in a way I can understand?” Lee asks, still his fingers feel twitchy. Hiromu’s window is open just a sliver, the breeze coming in keeps ruffling his hair. Hiromu grins to himself and shakes his head.

“It’s not worth sharing yet. I need more information, but there might be a connection to Watanabe.”

“Your missing partner?” Hiromu’s missing partner isn’t something they’ve spoken about. He should ask, but he can never bring himself to. He’s sure that it’ll be an uncomfortable conversation for Hiromu to have, and he can’t bring himself to make Hiromu too uncomfortable. Still, it would be a good idea to know as much about why Hiromu is in Mexico as possible. He can’t bring himself to ask though. He should, he should have pumped Hiromu the first time he mentioned it, but he’d let it slide instead, and now it feels too late.

“My missing partner.” Hiromu sighs. “I never thought I’d have two partners.” Hiromu laughs, and slumps back in his seat. “I don’t know what Nabe would make of you.” Lee can sense Hiromu’s eyes on him, but he can’t bring himself to look over at him. “I think you’d get on okay… He’s an excellent detective.” Hiromu sighs, and Lee flirts with going over the speed limit. This trip feels like it’s been too long already.

Alejandro Torres is a dull looking man; a short, with a paunchy middle, and receding hair that is grey, but only in patches. His voice is quiet and stumbling. He answers questions honestly, but he looks guilty of something. Lee can’t decide if it’s something he should pursue or not.

“Mr Torres, can you show us the accounts Miss Vasquez was working on?” It’s the first thing Hiromu says. He’d been standing quietly in the corner, watching Lee talk to the poor flustered man stumble his way through answering his questions about gambling debts, and potential threats to Katerina Vasquez’s life.

“Uh… I don’t…” Torres sounds incredibly uncomfortable. He seems to almost freeze for a second, then smiles, and nods frantically, getting to his feet. “Come with me.” He flags them along behind him. The insurance office is quiet. There are several young women busy typing while the young men try to flirt with them, a few older men looking like they’re doing very little but complaining, and fewer still older women busy on the phones; a typical office really. In one corner is a small framed picture of Katerina Vasquez, several vases of flowers and some candles around it. Lee bows his head on the way past, renewing his promise to Katerina that he’ll find her killers. “These are the accounts Katerina was working on.” Torres rubs an eye. “She was a good girl. We’ve been missing her.” The look on his face is that of a fond uncle, not the look of a man talking about a woman he was sleeping with. Lee’s glad he’d never gotten around to asking if Torres was having an affair with her. “We need you to find her killer.”

“We’re going to, Mr Torres. If you can think of anything, or anyone that could help us, let me know.” Lee hands over a business card. Torres nods, and takes his leave. Hiromu is muttering to himself, scanning through the files Torres had laid out on the table, when he suddenly freezes.

“Fuck.” Hiromu’s voice is little more than a breath. He’s staring down at one file. “Fuck…fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“What is it?” It’s a bland manila file, like all the others. The name on it isn’t familiar, it looks foreign, Japanese maybe. “She-me-su?”

“Shimizu.” Hiromu corrects him absently. Hiromu’s muttering in rapid Japanese, and Lee can’t even guess at what he’s saying. “Can you ask Torres if we can take this file? It’s important.”

“Important?” Hiromu nods without saying a word, his attention entirely on the file in his hands. “I’ll ask, if he won’t let us take the file, I’ll at least get a photocopy.” He leaves Hiromu still frozen, and muttering, unsure if he heard what he said or not.

“Can I help, sir?” One of the office girls appears before Lee, smiling, looking up at him from under her lashes. She’s a very pretty girl, curves in all the right places, lovely thick black hair, warm tan skin, truly a beautiful girl. He gives her his most winning smile.

“Maybe, Miss…”

“Gloria, Detective?” There’s a playful edge to her voice, and a twinkle in her eye. If he’d met her in different circumstances, Lee would definitely be flirting harder with her.

“Lee, Miss Gloria, Detective Lee.” He gives her another winning smile. “My partner is interested in taking a file back to the station, would that be possible?”

“That depends if the client is active or not…is it one of Katti’s clients?” He’s never heard anyone give Katerina a nickname before, this must be one of her friends, perhaps one of the girls she was out with the night she died.

“Yes, Shimizu.” He’s not certain he pronounced that right, but Gloria nods absently, and jerks her head towards an empty desk, nearest the little shrine to Katerina.

“Lemme check if it’s active. If it’s not, then it should be no problem, if it is then you’ll have to ask Mr Torres.” She starts typing, making absent small talk with him, the sort of mindless chatter people make when they’re filling in time. “Ah, there we are. Shimizu Holdings… Huh, it’s a hair company.”

“A hair company?” Lee squints at the screen, despite reading the language there, he can’t make any sense of the information displayed.

“Yeah, they import and export human hair, and make extensions or wigs. It’s pretty good business by the looks of things. Lots of stuff coming in from Asia, some from down south…decent numbers, really, but an active client. You’ll have to go see Mr Torres, Detective.” She winks at him, and hits print. “Oops, how clumsy of me to print out a second more detailed report, along with the most recent transactions on this account, that aren’t in the physical file. I hope no one goes to collect all of this information from printer three, near the coffee machine.”

“That would be a tragedy, wouldn’t it, Miss Gloria.” Lee tucks a business card under her keyboard. “Well, if you can think of any information that might be of any use, Miss Gloria.” He takes his leave, and hovers protectively over printer three, near the coffee machine, until it stops printing. The result is a tall pile of papers, that he’s certain Hiromu will be pleased with.

“It’d be a shame if this folder went to waste.” A different one of the office girls walks past the printer, as sets a plain, bland folder down beside it.

“It would, wouldn’t it.” Lee smiles at her. She fills her coffee cup, and goes back to her desk, the one beside Gloria’s. It seems Katerina’s friends are looking to help him if nothing else, which is a blessing.

“Ah, Detective.” Torres seems surprised to see him again. He awkwardly gets to his feet when Lee enters the room. “Is there something else I can help with?”

“We need to take a file with us.” Being blunt seems like the best approach to take. Torres flusters a little, and sits back down.

“Which file?”

“This one.” Hiromu comes into the room, his shoulders squared, his brightest grin on his face. Torres doesn’t seem able to look at him, his eyes darting around the room almost frantically.

“Which one is that?”

“Shimizu Holdings.” Hiromu slaps the file on the desk, and leans over it. Torres backs up in his chair, his eyes still darting around. Lee’s beginning to think he should be investigating this man, he seems far too suspicious.

“I…”

“It won’t be a problem, trust me.” Hiromu’s grinning brightly. Torres nods. “Thank you. We’ll be back with it before you even notice it’s missing.” Hiromu taps the file on Lee’s shoulder, and leads the way out of the insurance building. Lee trails along behind him feeling a little blindsided.

“So, you wanna head to the next interview? You seem like you’ve got yourself a lead there, Detective Takahashi.” Lee grins over at Hiromu, and gets little in response.

“Drop me off at the station, please? I need to make sure this is what I think it is.” Hiromu’s still busy with the file, flicking through it.

“And what do you think it is?”

“A lead, Lee. The first _real_ lead I’ve had on finding Nabe.” He hadn’t realised he’d never seen Hiromu truly _smile_ until this moment. He’s not sure if he wants to see it again or not. Lee holds his folder out to Hiromu.

“Katerina’s co-workers want her murder solved too.” That steals Hiromu’s smile. He takes the folder, confusion plain on his face. Lee starts driving towards the station, glad the traffic is much quieter now.

“What’s this?”

“ _Everything_ they have on Shimizu Holdings.”

“Lee, I could kiss you.” Hiromu beams at him, and turns to the folder. Lee turns on the aircon, it’s far too hot in the car. “I won’t, but I _will_ cook for you. Come by my place about six. I’ll feed you, and tell you everything I know so far.”

“You want me to bring anything?” Lee doesn’t answer until they’re almost back at the station. Hiromu had been far too distracted to notice or comment on his silence.

“Huh?” Hiromu looks up at him. Bewildered is a cute expression for Hiromu to wear. Lee should have gotten Gloria’s number. That thought is beginning to overwhelm every other.  

“To dinner. You want me to bring wine, or dessert, or something?”

“Oh! Oh, uh, if you like. I’d not say no booze and pudding.” Hiromu smiles at him again. He could have lived his entire life without knowing how a real smile lights up Hiromu’s entire face, and he’s not sure if that’s something to be happy or sad about. Lee pulls up in front of the station.

“Alright, I’ll see you at six then, Hiromu.”

“It’s a date!” Hiromu calls as he gets out of the car, which is somehow even hotter.


	8. The Thread of Fate

“It’s open!” Not the response Lee had been expecting when he’d knocked on Hiromu’s door, but when he tries the handle, he finds that the door is in fact open. “There’s some slippers by the door, they should be the right size!” Hiromu calls from the kitchen, his back to the door. To call it a kitchen is kind really, it’s part of the living room, separated by a countertop island. Hiromu’s apartment isn’t how Lee had expected it. It’s small, and utterly impersonal. The most Hiromu thing about it is the brightly striped blanket on the couch. Señor Daryl is lying on the back of the couch, watching him. Lee changes his shoes.

“I brought you your bug traps.” Lee sets the traps down on the island, and considers the kitchen more carefully. On the fridge is a strip of booth photos; Hiromu and another handsome man. There’s a filter over the photos giving them both cat ears, Hiromu’s grinning, his arm slung over the other man’s shoulders. The handsome man in the photos has a kind, almost indulgent smile on his face. In the last photo he’s grinning too, his cheeks stained red. “Who’s this?” He asks, hoping it’s not too personal a question, but hoping harder it’s the brother Hiromu mentioned once.

“Huh?” Hiromu turns to him. “Oh! That’s Nabe, my partner, my _missing_ partner.” He adds quickly, a sad smile dancing on the edges of his lips. “I took him out drinking to celebrate our first week as partners, and we wound up in Shinjuku…he was _reluctant_ to try out the photobooths at first.” That sad smile has taken firm hold of Hiromu’s mouth. “We had the best time. He won me that magnet in a UFO machine. He’s like _scary_ good at them. We were there for hours with him catching kids whatever plushie they wanted.” The magnet is one of the beckoning cats Lee’s seen in the cheap Chinese restaurants downtown. He finds himself thinking Nabe is less handsome. The rest of the fridge is covered in papers, all stuck up with different boring magnets. Papers covered in writing Lee can’t read, but it looks like a list of dates, with what he assumes is Japanese beside them, but others he can read. Katerina Vasquez is at the bottom of a list of more Mexican women’s names.

“What is all this?” Lee asks, staring at the names, all women’s names, all with dates. On a sheet of paper are ten dates Lee knows almost as well as Katerina’s name. The dates of the ten Tokyo murders. He almost recognises the characters that make up those women’s names.

“That’s what you’re here to talk about.” Hiromu’s voice is too close all of a sudden. He’s standing _far_ too close. “They’re all similar.”

“Hiromu…these go back decades…this one is from the eighteen-hundreds.” He can’t read the name, it’s in what he assumes is Japanese, but he can read the date.

“The same M.O. A dark-haired young woman, early to mid twenties, found dead in a secluded area, with no blood. Google might not be popular back home, but its alerts are useful.”

“You have a Google alert for this?” Lee glances over at him. Hiromu has very thick, very dark, but surprisingly short eyelashes, and a few freckles across his nose.

“I’ve a few.” It feels like the vice around his chest has loosened when Hiromu returns to the stove. “I guessed you’d like to try some Japanese food.” He smiles sunnily at Lee, stirring the pot in front of him. “You remembered my dessert, right?”

“I remembered.” He fishes the cake from the bag with the traps, and hopes Hiromu doesn’t mind that he forgot anything in the way of alcohol. “I don’t have your wine though.” Hiromu laughs at that, and jerks his head in the direction of the island. Sitting on it is a bottle with Japanese writing on it, the only thing Lee can make out is the sixty percent. “What is that, and how do I persuade you to not make me drink it?” Hiromu laughs at him, and shakes his head.

“You don’t wanna try the sake I carried all the way here?”

“I do not.” Lee mutters, regarding the bottle with all the distrust he usually reserves for his oldest brother. Hiromu laughs again. Señor Daryl hops up onto the island. “Hey kitty.” He seems unimpressed with Lee’s friendly smile, hissing softly at him.

“Can you do me a favour, and get the big plates out of the cupboard above the sink?” Hiromu’s moved onto a different pan, that’s sizzling and smelling amazing. “Lay them out on the counter.” Three big, brightly coloured plates that Hiromu covers in food Lee doesn’t recognise, but smells good. “Alright, help yourself.” Hiromu hands Lee a small plate, and some chopsticks. Lee’s entirely grateful that years of cheap Chinese restaurants have made him proficient with them. Señor Daryl hops down from the counter, and into Hiromu’s lap the moment he perches on one of the stools. “So, the list behind you…it’s got victims from all over the world.” Lee glances over his shoulder at the list. “Each page is a different country.”

“There any pattern?” Lee considers the lists, considers the dates, trying to ignore the fact that each date is another dead woman.

“Only one that really stands out.” Hiromu sighs. “Ten.” Lee hears the crack of the seal on the bottle of sake.

“Ten?” Lee turns back to Hiromu. He’s taking a swig from the bottle. Lee turns back to the lists, taking the bottle when it’s bumped against his shoulder. The sake isn’t as bad as he’d expected, but it burns all the way down to his stomach. The dead women seem to be spaced about two weeks apart, in groups of ten, in one country, then the pattern repeats in another.

“Margarita Hernandez.” Hiromu says softly. Lee turns his attention to the list with Katerina’s name on it. She was found murdered a month before Katerina, in a different city; a break in the pattern. “She’s an outlier.” Hiromu’s resting his chin on a fist, gesturing to the list with his chopsticks. “I don’t know if she’s part of these killings, or a copycat, or if something happened to change the pattern.”

“Watanabe?”

“Mmm-hmm, dearest Nabe did leave Tokyo about a month ago.” Hiromu takes the sake bottle back. “I should have brought stronger stuff over.”

“So, what do you know about Margarita?” Lee decides to keep Hiromu on topic. He wants to know what his partner does, or at least as much as he can get out of him. Lee is almost entirely certain that Hiromu won’t tell him _everything_ he knows, he’s too good at his job to lay all his cards on the table.

“Not much. I’m not Mexican, and she was killed in Puebla. I don’t trust myself to not get lost on the way, and my Spanish isn’t great, as you know.” Hiromu’s poking at the food he cooked, picking out some meat from the plate of stir-fry. “You wanna take a fieldtrip sometime?”

“I’ll put in a request for the case files, but I think a fieldtrip would be beneficial.” Lee braves the plate of thick noodles. “Fuck. Hiromu, you’ll make a good little wife one day.” Hiromu stares at him for a second, clearly judging his full mouth harshly, then barks a laugh.

“Someone would have to propose to me first.” He winks at Lee, and has some of the third dish, which appears to be nothing but green vegetables. Lee takes some of those, and apparently his expression is incredibly entertaining. “You got me a nice ring?” Lee has no response to that. He keeps eating, and eyeing the bottle of sake. Being drunk would be better than being teased by Hiromu. “Margarita is the only misstep in the pattern…a pattern I’ve tracked through decades…” Hiromu sighs, poking at the plate with the meat stir-fry. “It’s connected to Nabe somehow…I just don’t know how.”

“You really have no leads on him?”. Hiromu’s expression is stricken at best, Lee shoves some vegetables into his mouth. It’s better than trying to make Hiromu look less distressed, he’d only make a fool of himself if he tried.

“I know nothing more than what I told you.” A silence lingers over them. Hiromu’s cat breaks it with a soft meow. Hiromu turns his attention to Señor Daryl, talking to him softly in incomprehensible Japanese. “I wish I knew something.” Hiromu’s talking to his cat, not looking at Lee. “We’ll find him, won’t we, Señor Daryl?”

“You don’t want my help with that?” Lee asks, Señor Daryl answers with another vague hiss. The cat hops from Hiromu’s lap, and returns to its spot on the back of the couch. Lee can feel its eyes on him.

“Of course, I do.” Hiromu smiles at him. “We need to find our murderers though.”

“Murderers?”

“It can’t be one person. There’s too many murders, and the blood, Lee.”

“We’ve no evidence that all these women are linked.” Lee glances back at the lists. “Have you pulled the files from Japan?”

“As many of them as I could.” Hiromu produces a bundle of printouts from somewhere under the countertop. “I’ve not translated them though.” Lee nods absently. He doesn’t reach for the files. “I requested them after Katerina’s murder.” Hiromu’s leafing through the papers. “There are so many consistencies between them.” Lee raises his eyebrow, hoping to prompt Hiromu to expand. “The neck wounds. The distance between the two wounds, the bruises on the waist, the chemicals in their blood.”

“That’s a lot more than I was expecting.” The things Hiromu had asked about as soon as he’d seen Katerina’s body. He’d seen her and known, or at least suspected, she was another one of these victims. “It’s not vampires.” Lee taps Hiromu’s nose, dragging his attention from the papers.

“No…probably not at least.” Hiromu smiles at him. Lee stuffs a mushroom into Hiromu’s mouth. He’s still smiling as he eats it. “I do think there’s something in the removal of their blood though.” Hiromu purses his lips, his gaze on the lists behind Lee. “It has to be a gang, or something like it. These murders have been going on so long though.”

“I think so…if they’re all connected.” Lee turns to the back of the lists. “You’re going to have to tell me what countries are up there.”

“I will.” Hiromu gets up, and comes back with a couple of glasses. He fills them with sake, and starts sipping at one, nudging the other over to Lee.

“Tell me about Shimizu Holdings.” Lee decides to change the topic, and distract himself from Hiromu’s smile. He’s a handsome man, with a handsome smile.  The mention of Shimizu Holdings makes him grin, and shake his head.

“Shimizu Holdings is and isn’t even a thing.” Hiromu grins, and pulls out another sheaf of papers. “I’ve found references to it, or at least some iteration of it, going back four hundred years or so.” He pats the papers. “Currently, it’s a collection of different low to middle level business, and share trading. It has something in every one of the countries there’s been a killing cycle.”

“You think it’s linked?” Hiromu laughs at him, and drains his sake. Lee supposes it was a stupid question. It appears that there is little doubt that the killings are linked to Shimizu Holdings. “A front for this _gang_?”

“I think so.” Hiromu refills his glass, and looks at Lee expectantly. With great reluctance, he drinks his sake. He knows getting drunk with Hiromu is a terrible idea. “I can’t find anything about the board of the company though. It’s a maze of shell companies, and seemingly false names. The only name I’ve found is the founder, Tetsuya Shimizu, but that is literally the oldest reference to the company, and it’s in Dutch writings.”

“Dutch?” Lee sips at the sake, and returns to raiding the green vegetable plate. Hiromu’s cooking is very good. Almost as good as his laugh.

“You don’t know your Japanese history, huh?”

“I watched that one video, but it was in English, and…everyone had samurai.” Lee grins.

“Correction, rich important people hired samurai.” Hiromu grins back at him. Lee finishes the plate of green vegetables, hoping to disguise his laughter. “English class sucked, but the foreign teachers try to break the rules sometimes.” Hiromu downs his sake, and refills his glass again. “I wish I’d learnt Dutch though.”

“Sorry, I’ve Spanish, and a little English. I don’t think there’s too many Dutch teachers here.” Lee cautiously sips at his sake. “You want to check Dutch history records to see if there’s any similar killings?”

“Of course, but that’s a job for Google.” Hiromu sighs. “It has to be some kind of gang, or cult maybe.” He rubs his temples, drinks his sake, and refills his class.

“A cult might, maybe, possibly explain the blood, I guess.” Lee isn’t sure that anything explains the removal of the women’s blood, except maybe the ridiculous thought of vampires, but that really is too stupid to think about.

“Nothing explains how the blood is removed though.” Hiromu downs his sake. “C’mon, you’re falling behind.” Lee drains his glass, and fills both his and Hiromu’s glasses.

“There’ll be an explanation, we just need to find it.” Lee sips at his sake. He needs translations for all the papers on the countertop. “Do you have sources for all these women’s murders?” Lee gestures behind him.

“Yeah, I do…I don’t think you want more paper you can’t read though.” Hiromu is staring at the lists, his expression distant. He has a gap between his front teeth, which is visible as he worries his bottom lip. “It’s…there’s something going on I can’t explain, or understand, and I…I want to solve this case, Lee.”

“You and me both.” Lee reaches over the counter, and touches Hiromu’s hand, drawing his attention from the lists. “You’re a good detective, and I’m not too bad.”

“You sell yourself short.” Hiromu stands up, and starts clearing the remaining food from the countertop. “C’mon, let’s take all this over to the table, and I’ll try explaining everything I know the best I can.”

Hiromu’s explaining is long, and complicated, but by the end of it, Lee thinks he understands almost all of it. Shimizu Holdings seems to be the thread that winds through every one of the dead women’s stories. Who is weaving that thread is a mystery; the only name they have is from around four-hundred years ago. He can’t blame Hiromu for considering vampires as a possibility; vampires would explain things so neatly.

“By your list, we should be expecting another dead woman in about ten days?” Lee finishes his sake before Hiromu’s greedy fingers can snag his glass, and the last of the sake, from the table.

“Mmm.” Hiromu nods. He looks sleepy, his cheeks flushed, his eyes mostly closed, a dreamy smile on his lips. “We’ve just over a week to find a four-hundred-year-old cult.” He laughs. Lee tries to focus on anything but Hiromu. He’s drunk enough that he’d say something stupid, or worse do something stupid, like move Hiromu’s hair from where it’s falling into his eyes as he smiles up at Lee from the floor. “I feel like we’re chasing ghosts, Lee. I’m not qualified to chase ghosts.”

“I was raised Catholic, Hiromu.” Lee grins at him, freezing when Hiromu’s chin digs into his knee. Hiromu has a sharp chin. Lee is horrified by his fingers rebellious actions, moving Hiromu’s so very soft hair from his eyes. “I’ll get us some Holy Water.” Hiromu’s eyes are closed. His eyes lashes are the darkest Lee’s ever seen.

“Will it help?”

“It can’t hurt.” Lee’s finger is still rebelling against him, twining Hiromu’s hair around itself. Hiromu yawns against Lee’s knee, and sits up.

“You go take the bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch.” Lee considers arguing, considers telling Hiromu he can drive home, but the look in Hiromu’s eyes is not something he’s going to win against.

“I’ll take the couch. I can’t steal your bed.”

“Take the bed. I think I’ve slept in it once since I moved in.”

“Hiromu…sleep in a fucking bed like a normal human being.” Lee ruffles his hair, scandalised by his entire hand rebelling against him.

“Tomorrow night, I will, for sure.” Hiromu gets to his feet, and drags Lee to his. “Go take the bed.” Lee does as he’s told. He’s too drunk to argue, and not at all disappointed the bed doesn’t smell of Hiromu.


	9. The Scent of Vanilla in a Pink Sky

Chirping of bugs, and the rustle of grass in a soft breeze. A laugh at his side, and a hand on his shoulder. A warm presence pressed to his side, the soft scent of something Lee doesn’t know, vanilla or shea butter. It’s nice. The person beside him shifts, and pokes the fire in front of them.

“Tomorrow, when the sun’s up, we’ll go in, and finish this up.” Lee speaks. The person beside him leans forward. He can see them only in colours; black of their hair, navy of their clothes, gold of their skin.

“It…yeah, when the sun’s up.” The voice beside him doesn’t sound like anything, but it feels comfortable, it feels familiar, it feels like a nap in a sunbeam.

“We’ve got this.” Lee rests his hand on their shoulder. “Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.” The shoulder, warm and firm, melts from beneath his hand.

His eyes hurt. His throat hurts. His fingers hurt. He’s gripping something too tightly. He’s lost something. He doesn’t know what he’s lost, but he knows _something_ is lost. He looks down. In his hand is a scrap of navy fabric. The something is lost, the person from his side at the fire. That is what is lost. The fabric is soft. It smells sweet, like vanilla or shea butter. Lost. The owner is lost. His face feels wet. Tears, he thinks. He lost something important to him.

Thick smoke. Thick, sweet smoke. _Sweet_ smoke, sweet like vanilla or shea butter. Lee squints through the smoke, trying to see what’s going on. He can hear shouting, loud incomprehensible shouting. Beneath the shouting, there is wailing, like a mother over an injured child, sharp, desperate.

“You’re here for us, aren’t you?” Hiromu. Lee thinks it’s Hiromu at least. The face is right, but the waist length mane of hair, and the strange black and red robes aren’t exactly his style. He’s leaning against some sort of weapon; long, with a strange blade on one end. “You’re here for my family, aren’t you, _partner_?” He laughs. Lee’s body moves on its own, drawing a sword from his hip, pointing it at Hiromu.

“How long?” Lee’s never heard his voice like this before, hard and cold. Hiromu laughs at him, waving his hand through the thick smoke.

“Longer than you’d know, _partner_.” His eyes are bright, and glistening. His lips. Lee can’t shake his gaze from his lips. Hiromu’s lips are shimmeringly red, deep blood red. His teeth, they’re too sharp, too long. “How long…” He smiles. Even this terrible monster version of Hiromu has a beautiful smile. Lee shifts. His body feels like it’s going to fight, going to _hurt_ this monster version of Hiromu. Instead, he vanishes with a smile, in that cloud of sweet, sweet smoke.

The wind is strong, blowing the scent of vanilla, maybe shea butter, to him. He’s not sure if real Hiromu smells like this. That demon, that monster, it smells like this though. It’s in front of him again. It’s not Hiromu. It can’t be. It’s staring at him. The sky is pinkish.

“C’mon!” A voice Lee doesn’t know is screaming. “C’mon!” It’s loud, and it’s panicked. Lee can’t see the screamer, but it’s coming from a darkness, a tunnel, a pit, something Lee isn’t sure of. The creature, the not Hiromu, looks over at the darkness. A fond look fills its eyes. “C’mon. Don’t…don’t do this, don’t make me go without you.” The voice is pleading, desperate, frantic. The creature swings the weapon. The darkness is covered by loose rubble. A wail comes from the other side. Lee tightens his hand around the hilt of his sword. The sky is pinker still. The demon, the not Hiromu, swings its weapon at him. Lee jumps back.

“You’ll deal with me, and by the time you do, my family will be safe.” The creature takes another swing. It looks determined, focussed. It’s not there to survive. It’s there to buy time, to save its family. The pink of the sky is almost orange.

“I’ll kill you.” Lee’s voice isn’t his, determined, focussed. “I’ll kill you, and I’ll kill every one of those monsters.” The sky has only the barest hint of blue and black. The demon smiles at Lee, and is suddenly too close. “You smell the same. You shouldn’t smell the same.” The long stands of hair that fall about the creature’s face are soft. The determination in Lee’s voice is gone.

“I should…” The creature leans in close. Its lips are soft, plush, perfect.

Lee wakes up with a jolt. He feels sick, too hot and achy like he’s having the worst hangover ever. It’s still dark out, but the curtains in Hiromu’s bedroom aren’t doing much to keep the streetlights’ glare out of the room. He groans, and rubs at his eyes. Strange dreams aren’t something he has often. He’s never had one like this before. It felt almost familiar, almost like memories, almost like something that’s happened to him. It didn’t. He’d remember that.

“No more sake.” He groans, sitting up to fluff the pillow, only to freeze. Hiromu’s cat is sitting on the end of the bed. It’s staring straight at Lee. It’s staring at him with what feels like a threat. It hops from the bed, leaving Lee alone in Hiromu’s bed. The pillow doesn’t need fluffing that badly.


	10. Margarita Hernandez

“You’re taking the cat?” Lee is staring blankly at Hiromu, and Señor Daryl. He’s managed to avoid thinking about the last time he saw the cat, managed to avoid thinking about everything but the facts and speculation on the case.

“I can’t leave him alone, Lee.” Hiromu gets into the car, and settles the cat in his lap. “You’d get lonely all alone, wouldn’t you, my darling boy.” The cat bumps his chin, then curls up, looking content. “Don’t worry, I packed his litter tray, he’ll be fine in my hotel room.” Lee starts driving, it’s not worth his time to argue with Hiromu, especially not when it comes to that cat.

“Did you read all of Margarita’s file?” Focussing on the case is Lee’s best bet for surviving this trip to Puebla.

“I did, and it’s… _lacking_.” Hiromu sighs. “It’s even smaller than ours, Lee, and we’ve no idea what we’re looking for, or doing.”

“Yeah, it’s not encouraging.” Lee has read Margarita’s file over and over, marvelling over how little was done. The coroner’s report was shorter than Ramirez’s, less detailed, only small mentioning of the marks on her neck, nothing about bruising at her waist, nothing that would really confirm that Margarita and Katerina were connected beyond the lack of blood.

“I’m not even sure what we can do in Puebla.” Hiromu’s head thumps against the headrest. Lee chances a glance at him. The two little marks are still on his neck, redder than they were, but no bigger. They look less like insect bites every time he sees them.  

“You should have left that cat behind, maybe he’d have caught those bugs for you.” Hiromu’s hand reaches up to his neck, his fingers resting on the marks as though out of instinct.

“Yeah.” His voice is soft, wispy, like he’s mostly asleep.

“You sound tired.” Lee wants to look over at him, but the traffic is heavy and fast. “You been to your bed at all yet?”

“I…it’s a lot of hassle going to a different room to sleep.” Hiromu laughs, but it’s joyless, flat and exhausted. “You need me to read a map or anything?”

“Hiromu, get some sleep. We need you on your game in Puebla.” Lee spares him a glance, noting his already closed eyes. The cat is looking at Lee, its face a war of contempt and superiority.

The drive to Puebla is long, and quiet. Hiromu sleeps the whole trip, Señor Daryl on his lap, staring at Lee, wide awake that same smug contempt filled look on his face the whole way. The hotel they’re staying in is shabby and cheap, but thankfully there are two rooms. The horrific idea that there might only be one booked had occurred to Lee on the drive. He couldn’t survive staying a few nights sleeping in the same room as Hiromu, why he’s so certain of that isn’t something he wants to examine too carefully. Hiromu had wordlessly vanished into his room with the cat.

Hiromu’s sitting at a table in the little dining room in the morning, there’s a plate of food near him, but he’s ignoring it in favour of reading a file. He looks up when Lee sits down opposite him. Lee slides a cup of coffee over to him, a smile blossoms on his lips at the sight of the cup.

“I could kiss you.” Hiromu holds the cup close to his face, his eyes falling closed.

“Did you get any sleep?” He looks tired, dark smudges under his eyes. Lee had slept like a log, but he usually does, he always sleeps well apart from that night in Hiromu’s bed. He’s not thought too much about that night, or the strange dream he’d had, mostly because he doesn’t want to focus on it, or the strange feelings it’d stirred up.

“Yeah, showered and was out as soon as my head hit the pillow.” Hiromu rubs an eye, and sips at his coffee. “I’ve been having the weirdest dreams lately.”

“Dreams? What kind of dreams?” The question wasn’t one Lee had wanted to ask, but it came out without his consent.

“I only tell my dreams to people I’m sleeping with.” Hiromu laughs. Lee’s cheeks feel far too hot, and Hiromu laughs at him again. “You wanna know what I dream about, you’ll have to give me that d.”

“Hiromu!” Lee is painfully aware of how scandalised he sounds. Hiromu winks at him, and turns back to his file. “What is that?”

“Nabe’s file.” Hiromu doesn’t look up from it. “I know it word for word, but it’s good to remind myself of what I know.”

“What _do_ you know about your partner’s disappearance?” Lee would like to say there wasn’t a catty edge to his voice, but there was. He’s not jealous, well he might be, but there’s no real reason to be.

“What I know I can fit on my little finger.” Hiromu drains his coffee. “You wanna get to the station? We should get started on this.” Hiromu gets up, tucking the manilla folder under his arm. “So, who are we talking to?”

“The detective for Margarita’s case…Ruiz…I forget the rest of his name, but Detective will work, right?” Hiromu laughs at him, light and fond. Lee’s blushing when he gets into the car.

Detective Ruiz looks like a startled rat, all lanky limbs and buggy eyes. He has a voice to match, and talks in a way Hiromu is clearly having a hard time following. He’d hung around for a few minutes, then vanished, probably off charming some poor office girl into doing him some manner of favour.

“Your partner doesn’t seem to be local.” Ruiz is smiling, but his brain seems to have forgotten to tell his eyes. “What’s a foreign boy doing here?”

“Different case…he got caught up in this one with me.” Lee thinks he might have said a little too much, at least the expression on Ruiz’s face says he might have.

“So, what is _this_ one?” Ruiz leans back in his chair, his eyes flickering over his computer screen.

“You’ve heard of the Vasquez murder case?” Lee shifts in his chair, it’s hard and uncomfortable, the sort of chair designed to make the person sitting in it want to leave quickly.

“The vampire murder? I’ve heard of it…it’s a bit like the one we had here a while back. You’ve read the casefile, right, and wanted to come see what I had to say?”

“I’ve read it, and I’m here to see if there’s something missing…it was a little,” half-assed would be the right description, “thin,” is the politer one Lee uses.

“She was the daughter of a drug dealer. It was nothing but a message to her daddy.” Ruiz pulls a cigarette from his packet, and rests it between his lips. “Unless _your_ vampire is cartel, I don’t think there’s any link.”

“I’d like to look into it all the same.” Lee tries his best to look relaxed, to keep the growing sense of dismissal down. There’s nothing for him to learn here, Ruiz decided that Margarita was killed over money or drugs, and wrote the case off without looking for prosecution. In his mind, Margarita wasn’t worth his time, or his attention.

“There’s nothing to see, kid.” Ruiz laughs, then straightens up suddenly. “Chief?” A burly man bustles in, Hiromu trailing him, a lazy smile on his face.

“Ruiz, don’t you have somewhere to be?” The Chief has a voice like an angry storm. Ruiz bounces from his chair, scampering out of his office. “Alright, Detective Takahashi, enjoy.” He claps Hiromu’s shoulder, and leaves the office. Hiromu takes Ruiz’s seat, his attention on the still logged in computer screen.

“How do you do that?” Lee comes around the desk so he can see what Hiromu is doing.

“Hmm?” Hiromu’s sets a namecheck up in the cold case database in one tab, then calls up Ruiz’s personal notes on Margarita’s case.

“You just…you’re a charming bastard, you know that?” Lee’s fingers are twitchy, itching to do something. Hiromu’s hair looks soft, his fingers know it feels soft from that night in Hiromu’s apartment.

“Marry me, and I’ll teach you my ways.” Hiromu mutters, clearly only half paying attention. “I told him I was here on International business. He took that to mean something a little more than he should have, but I’m not complaining.”

“You’re gonna get us in trouble at this rate.” With neither thought, nor permission, Lee’s hand ruffles Hiromu’s hair. He doesn’t react, his attention still solely on the screen, and Ruiz’s patchy case notes. “Scroll up a little, I missed a bit.” Lee says just for the sake of saying something to distract from the feeling of Hiromu’s hair lingering in his fingertips. There’s nothing in the digital version of the notes that wasn’t in the hard copy. When Hiromu’s scrolled to the end, him murmurs something Lee doesn’t understand. In his native tongue, Hiormu’s voice is different, deeper, more melodic; it might be that Lee finds the unfamiliar sounds more pleasing, it might be that Hiromu is infinitely more confident in his native language. Lee isn’t going to think about it too much, he needs to not focus on his thoughts about Hiromu; the case, those dead women, that’s where his focus should be.

“He did so little for her.” Hiromu’s clicked to the database, and clicking through the hits quickly. He’s clearly looking for something. “ _This_ look familiar.” Hiromu taps the screen suddenly. A case from decades ago, a dead woman, probably already on Hiromu’s fridge, with her place of employment listed as Shimizu Holdings.

“Well, that’s a surprise. I guess we should go take a look.” He hadn’t mean to lean down so far, hadn’t meant to be so close to Hiromu, but he is. “You smell nice.”

“Huh?” Hiromu turns to him with a blank look.

“What?” There’s an embarrassing defensive tone in Lee’s voice, that he’d rather wasn’t there, but it’s too late to do anything about it now.

“I _smell_ nice?”

“You do…like vanilla or something…it’s nice.” Lee straightens up, shoving every single thought that isn’t focussed on their work to the back of his mind. Hiromu leans his head back, staring up at Lee.

“If I keep buying this brand of shower gel, maybe you’ll get to know my dreams.” He laughs, turning his attention to the computer screen once more. “I guess, we should visit the family, and friends.” He’s noting down the address for Shimizu Holdings on a scrap of paper. “I doubt it’ll still be there, but…”

“It’s better for us to have looked rather than for us to ignore it, right?” Lee puts some space between them, looks around Ruiz’s office, trying to spot anything that might give them a clue about the man who’d been tasked with finding Margarita’s killer, and decided she wasn’t worth his time. It’s the same flat, nondescript office as the one Lee hopes to have back home in the future. Nothing stands out, nothing seems out of place, nothing he can see at least. Hiromu is looking around the room, his eyes narrowed as he considers the space, Lee’s certain he’ll spot it if there’s something to be seen.

“If you were going to hide something in here, where would you put it?” Hiromu’s chewing on the ends of his hair, his eyes flitting all over the room.

“I’m not creative, you know that, I’d go for a desk drawer.” Lee pulls one of the drawers open. Inside, there’s a mostly empty bottle of tequila, some cigarettes, and a phone charger.

“Thankfully, Ruiz is a little more original.” Hiromu hops up onto the chair, and loosens a roof tile, taking down a thick manila file. Lee stares at him for a beat, and then laughs. If he had half the talent of Hiromu, he’d already have a flat, nondescript office of his own.

“Give it here, detective. I’ll get a photocopy of all of this, then we go see Mr and Mrs Hernandez.” Lee takes the folder from Hiromu, heading off to find the copier. Whatever this file is, it’s possibly not related to the case, but it won’t hurt to have a copy of it, any potential clue is worth having in this case.

The next couple of days, they visit The Hernandez family, and Margarita’s friends. No one has anything to add, no one seems to know anything, or have anything of any value to say. The same nothing comments about her as there were about Katerina. She was a normal girl, who was living a normal life, working a normal job, doing normal things; the only interesting thing about her was her death. She might not fit the timing pattern, but in every other way, she’s the very model of the cases on Hiromu’s fridge.

The building that had housed Shimizu Holdings, some seventy years ago, hadn’t been there, which wasn’t a surprise. In its place was a park. Nothing special, some grass, some trees, some kids playing football loudly. Hiromu had paced around the park, rumbling in Japanese to himself. Lee had asked some of the old ladies, sitting on benches about the park, if they could remember anything about Shimizu Holdings. One of them had mentioned she could remember that there’d been a building there, back when she was a very little girl. The reason she remembered it was because she remembered a man, a slight man with golden hair, and a mask. She thought he must be a wrestler or some such thing. Lee’s pretty sure it was a flight of fancy on the old lady’s part, age plays havoc with the memory, so he didn’t bother mentioning it to Hiromu. He needs Hiromu focussed on facts, not distracted by the fancies of old women.

Their final day in Puebla starts as the first had. Lee comes down to get breakfast, finding Hiromu sitting at a table, ignoring his food, pouring over files. This time though, Señor Daryl is sitting in his lap. The cat glowers at Lee when he sits down.

“I brought you coffee.” Lee slides the cup over the table, trying to read the upside down file Hiromu’s attention is consumed by. He can’t make it out. “What you are reading?”

“Ruiz’s file.” Hiromu doesn’t look up from the file, marking something in the file.

“What’s in there?” Lee starts eating the food Hiromu’s ignoring.

“His informants.” Hiromu marks something else, and takes a sip of his coffee. “There’s some interesting names in here…some… _unexpected_ names.” Hiromu marks something else. “But at least we have some work to do now.”

“We do?” Hiromu hands him the page he’d been marking. Underscored on the page several times is the name _Margarita Hernandez_. “He knew her. He knew her, and he did absolutely, fucking nothing.” A fury boils in Lee’s heart.

“I guess she was feeding him information about something big, and he assumed that’s what got her killed.” Hiromu shrugs, marking something on the next page.

“You sound like you have theories on this, Detective Takahashi.” Hiromu laughs at him, and nods.

“I do, but it’s stuff I can theorise about when we get back.” Hiromu picks up Señor Daryl, sets him on the chair, and gathers the file up. “We should get going. I need to…there’s some things I need to check out.”

“You gonna tell me what these things are?” Lee hands him the loose paper, trying to catch his eye. “We’re partners, Hiromu, sharing our thoughts is important.”

“My thoughts aren’t fully cooked, Lee.” Hiromu looks at him for a second, then stuffs the file into his bag, hefting it on is shoulder. “I don’t want to give you food poisoning.”

“You’re a good cook.” Lee gives him as much of an encouraging smile as he dares.

“Good enough to consider marrying, as I recall.” Hiromu winks, and collects the cat from the chair. “C’mon. Let’s get back, and to work on this.”

“Hiromu?” Lee waits for Hiromu’s attention to be on him. “Did you eat anything?” Lee gestures to the barely touched plate of food.

“Probably.” Hiromu looks at him for a moment, then rubs his temple. “I’ve not been hungry lately.”

“You’ll have to come to one of my family dinners, my mother is itching for the chance to feed you, you know.” Lee hesitates for a second, eats one last mouthful of food, then leads the way out to the car.

“We’re getting nowhere with this.” Hiromu groans, banging his head against the headrest, and fussing with Señor Daryl’s fur. “No one told us anything, and no one tried to find anything out. No one cares…I don’t know if we can solve this, Lee.”

“We can’t give up, Hiromu.” Lee’s clutching the steering wheel, trying to look past the apathy they’ve encountered on this almost fruitless trip, trying to focus on the few positives. “Margarita, Katerina… _all_ of the dead girls deserve our best.”

“I don’t know that my best is enough, Lee.” Hiromu turns to him, the look in his eyes is distant, unfocussed. He looks exhausted, but beautiful. The sunlight streaming through the window catching the strange red tones in his hair. Lee should ask about it, but it seems like a stupid thing to think about, nevermind ask about. He can’t remember if the strange almost Hiromu from his dream had red in his hair or not. It’s an even stupider thing to have thought.

“ _Our_ best, Hiromu. We’re partners, we’ll solve this together.” Lee reaches over, moves the hair from Hiromu’s eyes, hoping his face isn’t showing any embarrassing emotions. “Get some sleep, you look like shit.” Hiromu laughs softly, the sound vanishing under the sound of Lee starting the car. He should definitely invite Hiromu to the next family dinner, his mother will take care of him, give him back some pep.

“Yeah, yeah…wake me up when we’re back.” Lee glances over at him, his eyes are closed, already asleep, but Señor Daryl is awake and staring at him. Lee turns back to the road. Hiromu should have left that damned cat in the alleyway.


	11. A Needle In a Haystack

After Puebla, Hiromu has seemed distant. The deadline for making real progress is rapidly approaching. When they left, they’d had ten days, now they’ve less than a week before another woman dies, if the pattern holds at least. Lee’s hoping it doesn’t, because they need more time and a decent break. They’re getting nowhere so far.

“Morning.” Lee says it purposefully, jolting Hiromu awake. “You’re still not sleeping?” Hiromu groans lowly, rubbing at his temples.

“I was working…I…I was probably wasting time, but I can’t settle down to sleep. I need to feel like we’re making progress, but we’re not. We’re no further along, and running out of time.” Hiromu slumps against his desk.

“We’ll get there.” Lee sits at his desk, ignoring the computer in favour of watching Hiromu. “What were you working on?”

“Hmm?” He doesn’t move.

“Last night, when you weren’t sleeping, what were you doing?” Lee’s fingers are itchy, Hiromu’s hair is scattered across the join of their desks, long and silky soft looking. Lee knows it to be as soft as it looks.

“Honestly, it’s probably nothing. I don’t want to mention things that aren’t going anywhere.” Hiromu moves, peering at Lee through a curtain of his hair.

“C’mon. We’re getting out of here.” Lee gets to his feet, and taps his hands on his desk. Hiromu sits up, looking at him with a perplexed expression. “C’mon, detective, let’s go.” Sluggishly, Hiromu trails along behind him.

“Where are we going?” Hiromu yawns, rubbing at his eyes.

“We’re going for a drive, then a coffee, and we’re applying our revived eyes to this case.” Lee opens the passenger side door of his car. Hiromu raises an eyebrow.

“But why are we going for a drive?” He sounds mildly incredulous.

“We’re going for a drive, because you slept all the way to and from Puebla, so if my wonderful driving is what you need to get some rest, that’s what we’re giving you. Now, get in.” Lee gestures to the seat. Hiromu isn’t looking at him though. He’s staring up the street. “What?”

“Is there like a wrestling gym around here?”

“Huh? A wrestling gym? What do you mean?” Lee’s trying to see what could have caused that question, but he can’t see anything odd on the street.

“I saw a man…he was,” Hiromu waves a hand in front of his face, “wearing a mask, like a wrestler.”

“There might be, I don’t know. You know how famous we are for our lucha.” Lee fakes puffing up, his mind drifting to the old woman in Puebla.

“I guess. It’s just…it’s a little strange, don’t you think?” Hiromu slips past Lee, settling into the car, that sweet vanilla scent catches Lee’s attention. He forces memories of his dream to the back of his mind.

“Maybe…” Lee gets in the car, considering telling Hiromu about the old woman’s vague memories. “You remember when I was talking to the old ladies in the park?”

“Hmm, I remember.”

“She told me she remembered a man at the Shimizu building. A man in a mask, with golden hair.” Hiromu doesn’t say anything, he’s nipping at his lip.

“I guess that fucks up the Japan connection.”

“What?” Lee sounds incredulous. “How? There was hair bleach seventy years ago.”

“Seventy years ago, Lee. The Fifties. There weren’t too many Japanese men with gold bleached hair?” Hiromu sounds bitter, and snippy, his words hard and ill-tempered.

“He wasn’t in Japan though, he was here. It doesn’t necessarily fuck things up, it just…it doesn’t fuck things up, Hiromu.” Lee wants to touch him, it’s a strange desire, one to be tamped down, because it’s a weird thing to want to do to his partner, but the urge is there. He looks so defeated, like even just a gentle pat on the shoulder would be enough to comfort him.

“I’m just…I’m looking into the darkness and seeing only shadows. If I keep going, I’ll see the light.” Hiromu sighs, and rests his head back, his neck bared. The little marks are still there, still as red as ever. Lee starts the engine, trying to decide on a route to follow. He’s not sure where to go, somewhere quiet, without too much in the way of noisy traffic. “I need you to know this is ridiculous.” Hiromu mutters, his voice soft, his words hesitant almost.

“Hmm, but I need you at your best. An exhausted Hiromu can’t solve this case.”

“I’m not sure a well-rested one can either.” Hiromu yawns. “Every time I try to sleep, I think about it…about how she must have felt…I’ve not…the last time I had this much trouble sleeping was on my first case.”

“Your first case?” Talking will defeat the purpose of this drive, but it’s nice to listen to Hiromu ramble sometimes, even in Spanish he has a good voice.

“Mmm, my first _real_ case. I’d just been promoted to detective, and I was assigned to find a missing little girl. Everyone assumed she was dead, and the father was responsible, you know?”

“Well, nine times out of ten, a kid goes missing and it’s the parents, and of those nine seven times it’s the father who killed them. Was he responsible?” Lee glances over. Hiromu hasn’t moved, but his eyebrows are furrowed. He shouldn’t have asked about this.

“I questioned him. Everyone questioned him really, and everyone assumed he did it too. _Trust your gut, Hiromu_. That’s what the man who pushed for my promotion told me. I was working under him at the time. So, when I questioned the father, I asked him the questions I thought would help eliminate him. I asked him what the girl was doing that day. Going to school, then probably after school classes. What classes? He didn’t know. I asked if he knew where the classes were. He didn’t know. I asked where her school was, he didn’t know.” Hiromu sighs, shifting in his seat.

“He could have been lying.”

“He could have been, but he wasn’t. He knew nothing, but how much money it all cost. So, I asked the same questions to the mother. She knew, but…she didn’t seem like a murderer, you know?” Lee can feel Hiromu’s gaze on him, can feel the weight of it. He keeps staring ahead, his eyes on the road. “I went to the school. I walked the path to the after-school classes. I talked to the teachers. No one seemed like a murderer to me. I kept thinking about what my superior said to me, trying to trust my gut.”

“I don’t think your gut is why you’re a good detective, Hiromu.” Lee regrets how sharp that sounded, but it’s true. Hiromu’s a good detective for a lot of reasons, and maybe strong instincts are part of that, but there is more to him than just intuition.

“Hmm, anyway. I was walking from the after-school school to the girl’s home, when I noticed an inn. It was one of those knocked up quickly _authentic_ experience hotels that charge foreigners a fortune to have the real Japanese experience. I figured there’d be no harm in popping in, asking the owners if they’d seen the girl. There was a guy there, some foreigner listening as I spoke to the owners. He came up to me as I was leaving, asking me weird questions about teeth.”

“Teeth?” Lee pulls over, and turns to Hiromu, knowing he probably looks like an idiot, gawping as he is.

“He was a dentist. He’d come to Japan to fix the country’s teeth. He told me I needed to do something about the gap between my front teeth.” Hiromu’s tongue flicks over his teeth almost self-consciously. “Eventually, we found the little girl.” Hiromu’s staring up at the roof of the car, blinking rapidly. “Every one of her teeth had been pulled, and left inside her. Her canines where missing though.”

“The foreign dentist killed her?” Lee isn’t going to ask more about this case, he doesn’t need to know, doesn’t want to know.

“The foreign dentist killed her. I knew as soon as I met him, there was something wrong with him. I trusted my gut, and solved the case, eventually.”

“What does your gut say about this one?” This time Lee does touch him. He reaches out, and tucks Hiromu’s hair behind his ear. Far too intimate, but his gut was telling him it’s fine, so maybe he should follow Hiromu’s advice and trust his gut.

“Nothing, Lee. That’s why I’m so…I have nothing. Ever since the murders in Tokyo, it’s stuck with me, but I don’t know anything. Every time I think I’ve something to go on, it leads to a dead end.”

“Hiromu,” Lee catches his chin, turning him so Lee can look him in the eye, “you’re an incredible detective. You’ve talents, and skills, and intuition I can only dream of,” without thinking, Lee had moved closer, so close it’d take only a little more to be able to press his lips to Hiromu’s, he smells so sweet, his lips look so soft, his hair is brushing the back of Lee’s hand, his skin is warm beneath his fingertips, and his lips look _so_ very soft. “But you need a nap.” Lee turns from him quickly, starting the engine once more. Hiromu’s head thumps against the headrest. 

“I guess a nap won’t hurt.” Hiromu sounds odd, frustrated almost. It’s probably the case. His lips do look so soft though, and he smells so good. Lee heads towards the highway. He’ll have to concentrate if he doesn’t want them to end up as paste.

Lee lets Hiromu nap for a few hours, before he starts thinking about where they can get some coffee. He’s not sure where would be the best place, somewhere quiet, somewhere he knows the other customers, somewhere they can talk about the case without causing too many problems. Somewhere he’s familiar with, somewhere he has an advantage, because far too often he’s side-tracked by thinking about Hiromu. He settles on the coffee shop he meets Rush in. It’s dark lighting might do him some favours in ignoring Hiromu. He’s getting too distracted by his partner, who seems to be distracted by something up the street again.

“You okay?” Lee touches his shoulder lightly.

“Hmm, yeah…I think I’m seeing things now.” Hiromu shakes his head. “C’mon, coffee, and I’ll regale you with tales of why I wasn’t sleeping.”

In the coffee shop, seated in the back is Rush. He seems surprised to see Lee, and gets to his feet holding his arms out for a hug with a grin though. Lee hadn’t expected to see him here, but he knew it would be a risk. Hiromu gives Rush a vague nod. He still looks tired, but at least he’s not utterly exhausted like he was earlier.

“Little brother, I didn’t expect to see you here.” Rush gestures to his table. “Have a seat.” Rush’s attention is on Hiromu, barely looking at Lee. “This is the famous new partner? I’m Lee’s biggest brother, Rush.”

“Hiromu Takahashi.” Hiromu offers him a hand, then slumps into his chair.

“A hard case, detective?” Rush is still holding Hiromu’s hand when he asks, something he seems to realise when Lee sits, he lets go of Hiromu’s hand quickly, but gently.

“We’re working on it.” Lee snaps. He wants to snatch up Hiromu’s hand, to hold it tightly until his skin forgets the feeling of Rush’s fingers on it. Lee really needs to do something about these thoughts about Hiromu.  

“I’m glad to hear it.” Rush settles back in his booth. “I’m surprised to see you here though. It’s not like you to come here on your own accord very often.” Rush’s comment might have been for Lee, but he’s still watching Hiromu.

“It’s quiet, and we needed out of the office.” Lee answers the question, wanting Rush’s eyes off Hiromu and on him. It feels important to keep Rush’s attention off Hiromu, he can’t say why. Rush turns to him with a lazy smile.

“Lemme get you two a couple of coffees, and I’ll let the fine detectives get to work.” Rush stands up, gathering his jacket.

“Mr Rush, something with plenty of caramel, please.” Hiromu shifts round, taking the booth. A strange little smile blossoms on Rush’s face – it looks almost fond.

“I’ll send it over, detective.” Rush ruffles Lee’s hair on the way past. Lee instantly reaches up to try and fix whatever mess Rush has made of it.

“He really is your big brother, huh?” Hiromu laughs. “He reminds me of my own, better hair though.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lee mutters. Rush’s hair is probably the least offence part of him as far as Lee is concerned. Hiromu laughs at him again. A waitress drops off two coffees. Hiromu takes a long drink of the big tall caramel topped glass.

“I wish I’d brought the case file with me.” Hiromu drums his fingers on the table. He seems much more awake after his caffeine. “Something just occurred to me.”

“Oh?” Lee sits up straighter. It’s always enlightening hearing what Hiromu has to say about the case.

“I’ve been thinking about the masked man your old woman mentioned.” Hiromu stirs his coffee, looking down at the table. “The killing cycles are fairly spread out, but there’s a slant to Mexico and Japan.”

“If I remember right, yeah.” Lee’s trying to follow where Hiromu’s going, but is stumbling.

“There’s plenty of masked wrestlers in both countries, right? So, maybe our _cult_ uses masks to hide their identities.”

“Maybe…I guess, I mean it’s an explanation, and lord knows we need more of those.” Lee picks up the little espresso Rush had sent over to him. “Hiding their identities though…that causes us some problems, but lucha masks are all individual, and I guess a cult would use the same imagery on their masks. I guess we could look through CCTV footage for anyone in a mask coming into the club Katerina was at, then we can trace them, and have a chat with them.”

“That’s what I was thinking. It’s not much of a lead, but it’s something right?” Hiromu’s smiling, one of those timid, soft excited smiles Lee’s been noticing far too often.

“Then, we finish up this coffee, and get bored by the CCTV footage.”

“A truly exciting plan.” Hiromu laughs, settling back into the booth. The dim lighting somehow makes the hints of red in his hair even more obvious. Lee needs to not focus on that, but in this stylish mood lighting coffee house, the red seems almost the colour of blood.

Back at the station, Hiromu still seems to droop once more, despite the nap, despite the coffee. He slumps at his desk, typing diligently at something he doesn’t want to talk about, something he says isn’t ready for discussion. It would be best if they shared everything they knew with each other, not that Lee has any more secrets kept from Hiromu regarding the case.

“Come stay with me tonight.”

“What?” It’s a pertinent question, Lee isn’t sure what either, but he’s the one who invited Hiromu over, so he’ll have to answer this very legitimate question.

“You look so tired, Hiromu. Let me make you dinner, and you can sleep over.” Without thought, Lee offers Hiromu a hand to his feet.

“I need to feed Señor Daryl.” Hiromu lets him haul him up to his feet.

“You’ve one of those timer bowls, right? He’ll be fine for one night, and I can give you some clean clothes. I’m worried about you. You look so…”

“I look like shit? I know that.” Hiromu laughs, giving him a lazy little smile.

“You look tired, Hiromu, and I worry. So, let me feed you, and give you a place to sleep with no bugs for one night, hmm?” Lee’s still holding his hand. He drops it sharply. Hiromu rolls his neck.

“Well, I’m not going to say no to proper home-cooked food.” Hiromu’s stuffed his hands in his pockets, and leaves the office. Lee takes a deep breath, and hopes Hiromu’s doesn’t mind reheated, home-cooked food.


	12. A Dream of Memories

Plans are fluid. They have to be, but it’s always an irritation to have to adapt them on the fly. For every second of his not-life, Bushi has been given to planning. The first time he’d awoken as a vampire, he’d planned to take the spot of his maker, a creature whose name and likeness he has long forgotten. It’d taken him a short time to claim his maker’s spot, and fall into a comfortable routine. It’d taken Naito exactly five seconds to ruin that routine, and every one of Bushi’s plans. Those big sad eyes, that cute little pout, they had been impossible to resist, and Bushi had brought him over without a single thought beyond _this one is mine_.

His other boys, his darling beloved boys he had poached from The Order. They had crossed Bushi’s path a long time ago before Naito had. An organisation dedicated to the eradication of Bushi’s kind, with their stark navy uniforms and stupid masks, worn for reasons Bushi has never cared about, but Naito finds fascinating. He’d somehow managed to sneak his way into The Order. He’d been so amused by the idea of the very thing they were hunting working for them, taking their money, their knowledge. In truth, Bushi had worried. The thought of Naito being surrounded by their enemies had scared him, but Naito proved to be far more cunning than Bushi had expected. Over the years, he’s dipped in and out of The Order, feeding little bits and pieces of information to Bushi, using that stolen knowledge to keep them all safe.

Over time, Bushi had stolen several of their most precious assets. The first, Sanada. He’d been lost in their ranks, overlooked and overshadowed by others, but under Bushi’s guidance, he’d blossomed into a cunning, and crafty creature; perfect for watching them from afar, and reporting back. The second had been a strange gift mostly from Naito. Magic, proper magic is rare, but Naito had found a human blessed with the gift in The Order, and had made himself his partner. Watanabe had been a nervous young man, with no real idea of his true power, Evil, the vampire he became, is formidable, and one of Bushi’s favourite sons, though in truth every one of his boys are his favourite. Each one of them holds a dear place in his heart. Rush had been an easy steal. His discontent in The Order had been blatant, and his persuasion to Bushi’s side had taken little more than asking. For a time, the routine had settled. The five of them moved from place to place, feeding when necessary, working to survive in a world that was increasingly forgetting that creatures such as vampires existed.

Then, Naito, because all major bumps in Bushi’s comfortable existence come from him, had left them.

It had taken far too long for him to return to Bushi, but when he had he’d been all but shaking in excitement. The Order had recruited something they could never hope to contain. A soul with mixed blood. Not a mix of human and vampire, such things aren’t truly uncommon, this was a soul born of humans, but with the blood of something else. Bushi had scoffed at the notion until he met the quiet, nervous recruit. Hiromu had been so very young, and so very awkward, holding his sword like he was afraid it would bite him, but when he’d met Bushi’s eyes it’d been clear. Just behind the veneer of humanity was something else, something old, something strong. Bushi’s mind had screamed at him in a way it hadn’t since he’d met Naito; _this one is mine!_

He’d waited on bringing Hiromu over though. He’d waited to see how the nervous boy would grow up. Naito had wanted to turn him straight away, but something in Bushi had demanded they wait. The something had been wonderfully correct.

It’d been in Mexico. Hiromu had been paired with the latest incarnation of Rush’s youngest brother’s soul; two young recruits sent to hunt down a coven of vampires in the Mexican countryside. They’d been afraid, and worried, but grown uncomfortably close. The night before they would go and kill the vampires, Bushi had gone to Hiromu, slipping into his dreams, talking with him, with the oldness of his soul. Gradually, the more vampires Hiromu and his partner hunted, the more Bushi had slipped into his mind, and the more Hiromu’s aged soul came alive, until finally Bushi claimed his beloved baby for himself.

He’d refused to allow anyone too close to his baby at first; only Naito, and even then, only with Bushi’s watchful eye over them. He does not have favourites, he refuses anyone who claims he does, but _if_ he did, those two would undeniably be his _favourites_. There is nothing, no feeling, no thought, nothing that compares to them; his first, his beloved scruffy sad eyed Naito, and his baby, his beautiful chaotic Hiromu.

It’d been perfect.

Then, Naito came back alone, dirty, wounded, and _alone_. He’d refused to say what happened, refused to tell Bushi anything, refused even when Bushi had taken his other boys and left him healed but alone in those dank tunnels. He’d accepted Bushi’s anger silently, never pushing, never approaching, never arguing, even as Bushi’s other boys were killed by The Order. The only times he made contact were to let Bushi know when one of his boys’ souls had roused from their sleep. Angry though he’d been, Bushi was thankful he’d never had to wait for Naito. Though he’d been furious in his assumption that Naito had let Hiromu die, possibly even caused his death as a way to save himself, Bushi is quite certain he would rather die than face a world without Naito in it.

Seeing his baby again in that alleyway had filled Bushi with a flood of some powerful emotion, relief, love, happiness, one of those but probably all of them. The decision to take the form of a cat had been simple. Hiromu is weak to them, and Bushi has long had the talent for changing form, but he’d not expected to be so quickly held close to Hiromu’s heart, or taken straight to his apartment. It wasn’t expected, but it was deeply welcomed. Every night, Bushi had the opportunity to slowly awaken his soul, to taste his blood once more. Hiromu’s blood was and is so very sweet. Seeing the decline of his mortal self weighs on Bushi, but the more Hiromu’s mortality ceases, and the more his true self comes forth the less Bushi worries over it. Soon, so very soon, Hiromu will fully awakened, and his baby will be returned to him. Once he is, no harm will come to Hiromu again, Bushi won’t allow it.

The memories he’d mined from Lee told him what happened the night Hiromu died. His baby had known a world without Naito wasn’t one Bushi could endure, and had sacrificed himself to spare him that trauma. That night, Bushi had slinked from the bedroom in Hiromu’s little apartment, and sat on the couch beside him. Bushi hadn’t slipped into his dreams that night, instead he’d sat there stroking his hair, marvelling at how much his baby loved him. Hiromu loved him enough to die to spare him pain, to sacrifice his life solely to keep Bushi’s heart from shattering. His baby loved him so much. His baby loves him so much.

~~~

“Rush is back.” Naito’s lying behind him, his chin on top of Bushi’s head. “You going to talk to him?”

“About what?” Bushi almost regrets his clipped tone. He’s mad, but it’s hardly Rush’s fault that Lee is once again trying to steal Hiromu. That fact isn’t stopping Bushi’s anger, but it is true. Naito shifts behind him, rolling to his back.

“Hiromu will come home, Mama.” Naito says it so calmly, so certainly. Bushi turns over, snuggles up against his side. “He loves you, his _soul_ loves you.” Naito’s arm slips around Bushi’s waist. “He’ll come home to his Mama, and steal my spot all over again.” Naito kisses his temple with a soft laugh.

“Hmm, maybe…maybe, but I have two hands, you can have one each.” Bushi lifts his head, and kisses Naito’s lips softly. “I should go see what’s happening.” Naito nods, and shoos him away almost reluctantly.

“Is Mama here?” Sanada looks harried, which isn’t normal. His oldest boy is always so very calm and cool.

“I’m here.” Bushi steps out of Naito’s bedroom, holding his arms out a little to Sanada. He wraps himself around Bushi, his head beneath Bushi’s chin. Rush looks something between scared and worried. He’s staring at Bushi, his eyes wide. Bushi had asked Sanada to keep watch on The Order. There only reason for him to be here is they’re too close. “I know.” Bushi strokes Sanada’s back. “I know, don’t worry.” Sanada’s arms tighten around him.

“He’s close, Mama.” Sanada whispers. Bushi ruffles his hair, as though shooing away Sanada’s fears. The Order can be as close as they like, it’s nothing Bushi hasn’t planned for.

“Have you eaten?” Bushi holds Sanada out a little, giving him a smile. Sanada shakes his head.

“We’ll go get some snacks.” Evil’s hand rests on Sanada’s shoulder. “C’mon, we’ll go out. I think…” Evil guides Sanada back out of the apartment. Rush hasn’t moved.

“Mama.” He clears his throat, and takes a single step closer. Bushi raises an eyebrow. Rush’s eyes fall to the floor. “I’m surprised to see you.” He mutters. Bushi takes a seat on the couch.

“Come, sit down.” Bushi pats the couch beside him. Rush perches on the edge of the cushion. “I’m not angry with you.” He turns to Bushi, wide-eyed and nervous. It’s such an unexpected and odd look on him. “I’m not. I’m angry that Lee is trying to take Hiromu from me again, but that’s nothing to do with you.” Bushi runs his hand through the length of Rush’s curls. He leans into Bushi’s caresses. “What can he do in one night though.”

“Hiromu is almost himself, even if he doesn’t realise it, Mama…a lot could happen.” Rush smiles tentatively. “I…I met them today…Hiromu…”

“He didn’t recognise you, did he?” Bushi asks absently, petting Rush’s hair. “He’s still sleeping, mostly…it takes time to wake him up.” Bushi sits back, and draws Rush down, settling his head in his lap.

“Sleepy demon baby.” Rush murmurs, his eyes drifting closed. “I don’t remember him all that well…I…Naito doesn’t like talking about him.” Bushi doesn’t say anything to that. In truth, Bushi doesn’t like talking about Hiromu much either. The memories of the time he was with them are precious, and closely guarded, to be kept for Bushi and his time in Hiromu’s dreams.

“Hmm, go get something to eat with Naito.” Bushi says eventually. It’s about time for Hiromu to be asleep, unless Lee has been keeping him awake. Rush rolls to his feet, and shakes his hair out.

“He’s here?” Bushi jerks his head in the direction of the bedroom. Rush’s eyes light up, and he takes off to the bedroom. Bushi closes his eyes, listens to Rush talking with Naito, them deciding to clear out, leaving Bushi with gentle, reverent kisses. Bushi leans back on the couch, and closes his eyes.

~~~

Hiromu’s asleep. The dreams Bushi visits him in are always the same. The room is the place Bushi brought Hiromu over. It’s a plain, simple room, a lantern burning low, a thin futon with Hiromu fast asleep on it. The flickering lantern casts dancing shadows, the sound of quiet and soft rain, and the faint twinkling of a windchime that’d been on the porch outside this room. It’s a room of memories, private memories shared only by he and his baby.

“Baby.” Bushi kneels beside him, and moves his hair from his face. The red staining the bottom of it is as bright and brilliant as it should be, unlike the hair of Hiromu’s waking body, it’s still black, unless the light hits it right, then red shimmers through. Soon, so very soon he’ll be able to bring his baby home, and the blood red of his hair will return properly. Hiromu’s eyes flutter open. “Hey.” Bushi runs his finger over Hiromu’s lips.

“Who are you?” He’s been asking this question since Puebla. Bushi thinks it’s a positive step, it’s better than the blank bewilderment he used to greet Bushi with.

“You still don’t remember me?” Bushi smiles fondly, tracing over Hiromu’s features.

“I…I feel like your name is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t…” Hiromu’s eyes fall closed, and he sighs softly.

“It’s okay, baby.” Bushi gently takes hold of his chin, and turns his head, baring the left side of his neck. It’d been from the left Bushi’s had bitten him for the final time, drained all but a little of Hiromu’s blood, and then let him drink Bushi’s own. The others, apart from Naito, had been brought over with blood from Bushi’s wrist, he’d drained them from behind, and offered them his wrist. With Naito it’d been different, Bushi had drained his blood the same, but for his beloved scruffy boy, he’d come before him with his neck bared, nicked and ready to drink. Hiromu was different again. The only one Bushi drained face to face. He needed to see the very moment Hiromu’s mortality was snuffed out and his soul truly awoke, he needed to see the moment the taste of Bushi’s blood roused it.

“I saw a man.” Hiromu murmurs, sitting up. The first time the dream has progressed to him not just lying there.

“A man?” Bushi shifts, moving closer, settling between Hiromu’s legs as he had that night lifetimes ago.

“In a mask…” He trails off, his hands reaching out for Bushi, settling on his shoulders as they had long ago. “It was a stupid mask…like…” He laughs, and flops forward, his forehead against Bushi’s shoulder. The action is entirely new, not from the memories at all. It makes Bushi smile against Hiromu’s hair. His baby’s soul is getting stronger, it’s something to be happy about. “It was like a tiger.”

“Hmm, I know. You can’t trust him, baby.” Bushi kisses his hair. Hiromu freezes.

“Mama.” He breathes the word for the first time in these dreams. “I know you…I…” He pulls back, then starts catching a glimpse of his hair. He takes a handful of it, staring at the red ends.

“Your hair is so pretty, baby.” Bushi caresses his fingers. Hiromu looks up at him. “My baby…it won’t be long now.” Bushi rests his hand on Hiromu’s cheek, and slowly slides it down, tilting his head, his thumb rubs over where he bit Hiromu. “Stay away from Tiger Mask, baby, okay?”

“Who is he?” Hiromu’s eyes are mostly closed, his lips quirked in a slight smile. He looks as he did just before Bushi drained his blood, just before he took him over.

“Part of The Order, baby…do you remember them?”

“The Order…” Hiromu pulls back from him, his eyes sharp, calculating, thinking. His baby is so clever, so very clever. His quick little mind is always working, always trying so hard to understand the memories Bushi’s waking up, and the little mystery Naito accidentally presented him. “Mama?”

“Hmm,” Bushi strokes Hiromu’s hair absently, watching things linking in his mind, watching his body trying to wake up, “what?”

“Mama…what do you want from me?” Hiromu’s eyes are clear, the fog of the dream almost entirely gone.

“I don’t want anything _from_ you baby.” Bushi cups the back of his head, and draws him closer. Bushi kisses him, a light kiss that Hiromu refuses to permit. His hands are in Bushi’s hair, holding him close, deepening the kiss, drawing Bushi down on top of him. When his grasping fingers finally relax, he’s smiling up at Bushi, his eyes full of adoration.

“I know this.” He pecks Bushi’s nose. “I remember kissing you, Mama.” He closes his eyes, ending the dream.

~~~

Lee wakes up to an empty bed. Hiromu had taken one side, and fallen straight asleep after eating. Lee had stared at files, pretending to work, but hoping to tire himself into passing out on the couch. It hadn’t worked. He’d ended up in bed. He glances at his phone. It’s just after three. Hiromu must be in the bathroom. Lee tries to go back to sleep.

“Hiromu?” He failed at sleeping and went in search of his houseguest. Hiromu’s leaning over the bathroom sink, staring into the mirror. “Hiromu?”

“Lee…” Hiromu’s voice is flat, almost like he wasn’t fully awake. “What colour is my hair?” Lee stares at him, at his hunched back, the way his hair is falling about his face. He looks terrible.

“It’s black.” Lee laughs, the red catches in the bathroom light, and that stops Lee’s laughter. “Well, sometimes your old red dye job still shows through.” Hiromu bows his head.

“Yeah…old dye job.” Hiromu doesn’t lift his head.

“Come back to bed, Hiromu.” Lee holds his hand out. Hiromu’s head bobs once.

“I’ll come in a moment.” He doesn’t move. Lee squeezes his shoulder, and goes back to bed. A few minutes later, Hiromu lies down on the other side. He’s on his back, his eyes open, the moonlight streaming through the curtains makes that clear. He looks terrible still, but beautiful, his hair especially, falling in soft waves across the pillow around his head.  

“Why did you ask about your hair?” Lee’s hand reaches out without thought to coil Hiromu’s hair around a finger. It’s soft, silky soft.

“It doesn’t matter.” Hiromu twists, lying on his side facing Lee. “Just strange dreams.”

“You’re in my bed, technically, we’re sleeping together, so you can tell me.” Lee’s mentally cursing himself for those words. Hiromu laughs softly, and bops Lee’s nose.

“Doesn’t count.”

“What if I made it count?” Lee cups Hiromu’s cheek, his thumb rubs over Hiromu’s lips. His eyes widen for a second, then he turns his back.

“Let’s not joke about that. We’ve a lot of work to do, go back to sleep.”

“Can I tell you my dreams instead then?” Lee reaches out, stroking the ends of Hiromu’s hair. He doesn’t answer. Lee eventually falls asleep, his fingers still in the ends of Hiromu’s hair.


	13. The Old Bastard

It’d been a long day of nothing, _another_ long day of nothing. They’d spent hours watching security footage from nightclubs, and Lee had been granted the opportunity to listen to Hiromu rant in his native language. What he’d been saying was a mystery, because he refused to translate, but it had been good to hear; as he screeched in Japanese, Hiromu seemed more alive, more like himself, than he has in days. Once the ranting was done, he’d slumped back into his chair, his face turned to Lee.

“Will you take me for a drive?” He’d asked the question softly, like he was embarrassed to be asking it.

“C’mon, up you get.” Lee gets to his feet, and clicks the monitor they’d been watching off. “A nap will do you some good, right?”

“It can’t hurt.” Hiromu leans back in the chair, smiling vaguely up at Lee. “I’m tired, Lee.” Lee’s hand moves without his consent to pet Hiromu’s hair from his eyes.

“I know, I know…I’m beginning to think you’ve caught something.” Lee offers Hiromu a hand to help him out of his chair. “You want me to take you to a doctor?”

“Home, drive me home, and I’ll sleep in my own bed like a grown up.” Hiromu gets to his feet with a groan, and slumps forward, his forehead against Lee’s shoulder. “Tomorrow if I don’t feel more alive, I’ll go to the doctor though. This is getting ridiculous.” He laughs softly, and straightens up. “C’mon, take me home.”

“You want to stop and get something to eat? You skipped lunch today, didn’t you?” Lee opens the passenger side door, ushering Hiromu in.

“I’m not hungry.” Hiromu’s slumped in the seat, his eyes closed. He looks oddly pale, and completely worn out.

“Okay, I…” Lee sighs, and closes the door. Hiromu’s definitely, or at least very probably sick, it’s the only way to explain all of this. He should insist on taking him to a doctor now, but maybe some sleep will do him some good. Tomorrow morning, Lee is taking him to see a doctor though. “Hiromu,” Lee gets into the car, and glances over to him. Hiromu doesn’t respond. His breathing is deep and regular, already fast asleep. “Ah, maybe I should just drive you around all night, hmm?” Lee can hear the edge of his tone, the soft, squishy, fond edge. “It might be the best way to keep you safe, hmm? Drive around, let you sleep, and keep those bugs away from your neck. You know, those marks don’t look like bug bites anymore, though…I don’t know what they are…I should measure them while you’re sleeping, see if they match Katerina’s…maybe our cult is trying to initiate you. I should shut up, shouldn’t? I’m probably gonna wake you up.” Lee glances over at Hiromu as they wait in traffic. He looks peaceful, but the colour of his skin isn’t right. It’s too pale, and looks clammy. “You rest, Hiromu. We’ll get you better, then we’ll find the killers, and get them the punishment they deserve.” Lee reaches over, and tucks Hiromu’s hair behind his ear.

“We here?” Hiromu yawns when Lee parks outside him apartment building. He turns to Lee with bleary, exhausted eyes. “Sleepy.” He yawns again, rubbing his eyes.

“C’mon, I’ll take you up to your bed.” Lee gets out the car, and carefully helps Hiromu to his feet. Hiromu leans against him heavily, moving almost as though he were drunk. He staggers to his bed, and flops onto it. Lee hovers awkwardly at the bedroom door, barely sparing a glance for the cat that brushes past him.

“Will you stay for a little while?” Hiromu doesn’t move as he talks, his eyes closed, hovering between awake and asleep.

“I’ll stay the night, if you want.” Lee offers, not moving from the doorway. Hiromu shifts, his hand going into his pocket.

“Here.” He blindly tosses his keys in Lee’s direction. “Go get some dinner, then come back and stay with me.” Hiromu moves, lying on his back, hazily staring in Lee’s direction.

“Put some pjs on, and I’ll be back in a little bit, okay?” Lee scoops Hiromu’s keys up from his bedroom floor. When he straightens up, sitting on the end of the bed, staring at him is Señor Daryl. Lee scowls at the cat. He swears the cat is scowling back.

“Kay, don’t be too long.” Hiromu squirms just a little on the bed, his body arching as he tries to make himself more comfortable.

“Yeah.” Lee murmurs blankly, trying to not think too much on Hiromu writhing. The image summoned up thoughts he’d rather avoid.

“I need to talk to you, boy.” A growling voice stops Lee on his way back into Hiromu’s apartment. He’d rushed home, thrown some clothes in a bag, and eaten takeout in his car, all a hurry to return to Hiromu. From the shadows of the entrance to Hiromu’s building, steps a man in what Lee supposes is a wrestling mask.

“Sir, do you need some help? I’m a police officer.”

“I know what you are, boy.” The man growls again, his age clear in his voice. “And I know, I need to talk to you.”

“Is there someone I can call?” Lee plasters his gentlest smile to his face. The old masked man grabs his shoulders and shakes him.

“Listen to me, boy!” The man sounds livid, a fury Lee hasn’t heard from anyone but his father. “We’ve done this so many times, well…not quite this.” He sighs. “In that apartment is an abomination.”

“Sir, I think you’re confused.”

“ _Listen_ to me.” He snarls. “Lifetimes ago, a monster awakened a demon. Lifetimes passed, and finally you managed to slay the demon. _Quiet_!” Lee’s mouth snaps closed, halting the words he’d been about to say. The old man holds his hand out. “Take it.” In his palm is a sheathed dagger. “You know this knife as surely as you know the demon in that apartment. Take it, and kill him.” Lee stares at him blankly.

“Go away old man.” He whispers, unwilling to think on the request, the almost demand, to kill Hiromu, because surely the _demon_ must be Hiromu. This old masked man is clearly insane, and needs to be returned to his care home. The old man closes his eyes, and sighs deeply.

“It’s always like this the first time. You remember the good of him, the parts of him that seem human, but if that monster awakens him again… _you_ may not remember the demon, but your soul does, and it knows that the best thing to do with him is to put him to death.” The old man’s eyes are full of sympathy, the emotion displayed so blatantly despite his gaudy tiger mask being in the way. “I’m going to ask you a question, and it may seem strange, but I’m going to ask, and I want you to answer me honestly.” The hand with the dagger in it, rests on Lee’s shoulder, the hilt digging into Lee’s shoulder uncomfortably. “What does his aftershave smell like?”

“His aftershave?” Lee mutters, dredging his mind for the scent of Hiromu’s aftershave, but only coming up with the sweet smell that clings to him now. “Light…expensive.” The memory of them arriving in the alleyway, of seeing Katerina’s body for the first time, the scent of blood, and the cleaner, lighter scent of Hiromu’s aftershave.

“And now? His scent is sweet now, isn’t it?” The old man’s voice is quiet, but hard. “The stench of his mortal self dying. We need to move quickly. You need to kill him before the monster finishes taking him.”

“What,” Lee swallows, his mouth feels dry, “what monster?” A smile spreads over the old man’s face.

“A vampire.” The masked man takes his hand back, and twists the sheathed blade, offering Lee the hilt. “A very old vampire, so old we don’t know its true name…all we know it as is Bushi.”

“Bushi…” The name isn’t familiar, but something in the very back of his mind is stirred, some distant faraway part of Lee knows that name.

“Lifetimes ago, your soul was a part of The Order. Our duty is to slaughter those monsters, but we’ve never managed to kill this monster, a terrifying beast that poaches on our number. It’s stolen many of our members, but the most dangerous one it stole, was a young man whose soul wasn’t what it should be.”

“His soul?” The man is still holding the knife out to Lee, and the more Lee stares at it, the more his hand wants to take it. He knows this knife, knows the delicate dragon carved into the hilt, knows the deep red jewels decorating it. This knife _is_ his, he _knows_ that.

“It’s the soul of a demon in the shell of a human. Don’t.” The old man laughs sadly, almost as though he knows that Lee was going to suggest exorcising the demon. “It’s not a human possessed by a demon, it’s a demon born as a human. It needs to be banished, but I can’t…not here.” The old man sighs, leaning against the wall. “So, we’ll kick that down the road, and wait for it to reborn again, then banish the demon back to where it belongs.”

“I…” Lee takes the knife, and slips it into his pocket. Its weight is familiar, despite that, this old man is clearly crazy.

“You’ve dreamt of your past, haven’t you?” Lee’s eyes snap up to the old man’s at that. “The Order’s uniforms are navy blue…we…” He sighs. “The demon came to our attention when he was first born. We took him from his family, and raised him, hoping to use him to our benefit. We sent him far away to work with another young hopeful. You worked well together, but the demon caught the monster’s eye. Slowly, we lost the demon…piece by piece, just as you’re losing him this time. You don’t want to kill him, I know that, his shell, the façade of his humanity, is charming, but we can’t let the demon roam free again, Lee.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Because I know you. I’ve known you through lifetimes, had this conversation, well ones like it, many times. Every time you’d be reborn when the demon roamed, your foolish soul would remember him as a human, not the abomination he became.”

“He…” Lee isn’t sure what he was going to say, isn’t sure what to do with the words this strange old man is saying. It sounds like so much nonsense, but something inside him knows these words to be far truer than he’s capable of or willing to admit. “Old man.” Lee has nothing to say, no words to express his feelings.

“You’ll remember more, Lee. You’ll remember _everything_ , and you’ll know what you must do, but it must be done soon. The monster will take him soon. The next kill will be for him.” The old man squeezes Lee’s shoulder. “I’ll be here when you need me.” His hand slips something into Lee’s pocket, and leaves. For a moment, Lee catches his breath. The old man gave him a scrap of fabric, deep navy blue, the scent of the man from his dream clinging to it.

Hiromu’s asleep. His face relaxed, and peaceful. The knife in Lee’s pocket is heavy. He perches on the side of the bed, staring down at Hiromu. The cat is sitting on the other pillow, its attention on Hiromu. Hiromu turns his head, baring the strange marks on his neck. Lee reaches out to touch them. The cat’s paw shoots out, scratching his hand. Lee snatches his hand back, tempted to swat the cat. It stands up, and pads down the bed, looking back at Lee, clearly expecting him to follow.

“I assume you’ve spoken with Tiger Mask?” When Lee enters the living room, there is a masked man sitting on the couch. He’s small, slender, his golden hair is curling up under his mask at the back of his head.

“Who are you?” Lee’s hand is curled around the knife in his pocket.

“The enemy.” The masked man smiles.

“Bushi.” Lee leaps over Hiromu’s coffee table, the knife unsheathed, and ready to lodge into the monster’s neck. The masked man isn’t on the couch, he’s perched on the end of the kitchen island.

“Yes?” He laughs at Lee, crossing his ankles. “I suppose the old bastard told you a story, a tale about a horrific monster, and a terrible demon?” Lee gets to his feet, and crosses the room, grabbing Bushi’s collar. “Really? Didn’t he tell you I was old and powerful, child? You think your knife will harm me?” Bushi’s hand wraps around Lee’s wrist, squeezing lightly. “You took my sweet baby from me once. I won’t let you take him again.”

“You’re the one who stole him from me.” Lee snarls, ignoring the pain of his compressed wrist. Bushi laughs softly. “I won’t let you take him, not again.”

“They’re going to kill him, Lee. They want to be rid of him, to banish his soul, to eradicate him. I won’t let them, and if you’re on their side _again_ , I will kill you.” Bushi’s lips are quirked in a kindly smile, his tone is a razorblade.

“I won’t let you hurt him.” Lee tries to pull his hand back, gritting his teeth when Bushi tightens his hold.

“You’re looking at this from the wrong angle. _They_ are the ones who are going to kill him, I am the one who is going to bring him home. Give me your little toy, and go to sleep.” Without thought, almost as though his body was moving on its own, Lee hands the knife over to Bushi. “Go to sleep, and remember only that you must protect Hiromu.” Bushi’s fingers run over Lee’s forehead. “You never met me, never met Tiger Mask, you know nothing but that you must protect Hiromu.” Lee steps away from Bushi, turns, and walks mechanically towards the bedroom. He lies down on the bed, slips an arm around Hiromu’s waist, draws him close, and goes to sleep.


	14. Mnemonic Aid

“So, you wanna tell me why you’re in my bed?” It’s a valid question, one Lee can’t really answer. Hiromu’s too close, staring at Lee with wide, confused eyes.

“I…you asked me to stay with you for a while.” Lee offers him gently. Hiromu’s eyes narrow. Lee tightens his arms around his waist. Hiromu looks even more confused. Lee’s fingers worm their way under Hiromu’s shirt, stroking the skin of his back.

“Lee?” He looks bewildered. Lee moves a little closer, drawing Hiromu flush against him. “Lee!” Hiromu’s hands are on his shoulders, as though to stop him from coming too close or to push him away. “What happened last night?”

“What? Nothing happened, why would you think something happened?” Lee tucks Hiromu’s head under his chin, holding him tight, protecting him from something, probably the bugs that keep biting him. Hiromu sighs, and relaxes in Lee’s arms. Hiromu lies in the cradle of his arms quietly for a long time, his breathing slow and even, his body pliant and relaxed.

“Lee…something happened…this…it’s not like you.” Hiromu’s voice is small, timid almost. Lee doesn’t say anything, just keeps stroking his back slowly.

“How’s your neck?” Lee murmurs against his hair, taking in the sweet scent of it.

“My neck? It’s fine.” Hiromu shifts, trying to pull away. “We should get to work.”

“What are we going to do, Hiromu? We’re no closer to knowing what’s going on, we don’t even know where to start. Maybe, we should just take a while to think this whole thing through.” Lee keeps his arms tight around Hiromu’s waist.

“Then maybe we should get out of bed, hmm?” Hiromu’s given up trying to free himself from Lee’s arms, lying still and pliable once more.

“I’ve slept with you twice now.” Lee doesn’t make any moves to get out of bed though, instead he squeezes his arm around Hiromu’s waist.

“Hmm?” The sound of that _hmm_ from Hiromu’s vibrates through Lee’s body.

“Does that mean I get to hear your dreams?” Lee’s fingers are petting down a little lower on Hiromu’s back, almost to the waistband of his underwear. Hiromu pulls back firmly so he can meet Lee’s eyes.

“Lee.” Hiromu’s tone is as bewildered as the expression he’s wearing. Lee takes a hand from around Hiromu’s waist, and runs it through Hiromu’s hair. “What has gotten into you this morning?”

“I was worried about you last night…I…” Lee isn’t sure how to put into words how he felt last night, it’s like everything but the feeling of it has vanished from him. Fear is the overwhelming memory of last night, a fear for Hiromu, a fear that something terrible was about to happen to him, something Lee couldn’t let happen. Hiromu’s finger runs along Lee’s cheek.

“I’m okay.” He whispers, his fingers curling around the shell of Lee’s ear. “I’m okay.” He smiles softly, and leans forward, pressing a kiss to Lee’s forehead. Lee cups the back of Hiromu’s head, holding him where he is.

“I worry I can’t protect you.” Lee gently pulls Hiromu’s head back by his hair, staring into his eyes for a second, letting his gaze flick to his lips, then back to his eyes. “I want to.” Lee licks his lips. “I want nothing more than to keep you safe.” Hiromu’s eyes drift closed. Lee leans closer, his nose against Hiromu’s. “If I kiss you, will you kiss me back?”

“Only one way to find out, isn’t there?” Hiromu’s eyes don’t open, Lee presses his lips to Hiromu’s, no movement, nothing but waiting to see if Hiromu will kiss him. He does, his lips move against Lee’s, his tongue flickers nervously over Lee’s lips, then concedes when Lee deepens the kiss. Hiromu rolls to his back, letting Lee lay on top of him, kissing him thoroughly, slow and deep, exploring every inch of his mouth, tasting him, savouring the gentle responses, swallowing his little moans. Lee tries to pull back, but Hiromu’s hands tighten in his hair, holding him in place. Finally, Hiromu breaks the kiss, and smiles up at Lee. “I guess, if you kiss me, I _do_ kiss back.”

“You do.” Lee pecks his smile with the whisper of a kiss, pulling back quickly before Hiromu can catch him in a proper kiss. “I…” Lee stumbles for words. He’s not sure what he wants, or needs to say. He gives up thinking, and kisses Hiromu again, then again, and again, over and over until his lips are tingling.

“I’ve wanted you to kiss me for a while, but…” Hiromu trails off, biting his lip lightly. Lee pushes up from Hiromu, ready to get off him, ready to let him finish his sentence. Hiromu’s legs wrap around Lee’s waist. “If I ask you to fuck me, will you?” Lee blinks at him owlishly.

“I…you have…” Lee fumbles for words, but nods like an excited schoolboy. He’s not been so tempted, so excited by the prospect of sex since the first time.

“Drawer.” Hiromu reaches out blindly towards the small dresser beside the bed. In the drawer, there’s nothing but a half-used tube of lubricant. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to fuck here, so there’s nothing more…there’s no condoms.” Hiromu finishes lamely

“You weren’t expecting to have sex in Mexico?” Lee looks down at Hiromu, at the unexpected blush riding high on his cheeks. “You’re a good-looking man, you should have expected to have sex, Hiromu.”

“I was expecting to be spending all my time looking for Nabe.” Hiromu’s looking away from him, rubbing his cheek against the pillow like he was trying to rub his blush off, as Lee helps him strips their clothes from them both quickly.

“And jerking off, hmm?” Hesitantly, Lee settles between Hiromu’s spread legs, letting his eyes flicker over his cock. He takes a deep breath, and calls on every one of his memories of taking women anally. He looks up at Hiromu, at the thoughtful smirk on his lips.

“You’ve done this before? I can…if you want…I mean, we don’t have, ah! Fuck warn me.” Hiromu moans, his back arching as Lee slides a lubed up finger into him.

“Warning.” Lee leans down, and kisses around his mouth, purposefully avoiding his lips until Hiromu’s hands catch his face, holding him still for a proper kiss. Fingering Hiromu’s ass isn’t too different to fingering the ass of a woman, except for one thing; there’s a little spot inside Hiromu that makes him gasp and moan when Lee presses against it.

“I’m ready, I’m ready.” Hiromu moans in Lee’s ear. “If you don’t fuck me now, I’m kicking you out of this bed, and not talking to you again.”

“You need to talk to me, we’re partners.” Lee rears back, coating his cock in lube, glancing at Hiromu’s weeping erection. “I’ve never…you know, with another man.” Lee crooks a lazy grin, absently stroking Hiromu’s cock.

“Really?” Hiromu shifts his hips. “You know, we can stop if you want.”

“Nah, I want this, I want you.” Lee lines his cock up with Hiromu’s hole, and meets his eyes. “Warning.” He eases the head of his cock into Hiromu as he kisses him, devouring the gentle keening moan Hiromu lets out. “You ask me if I’ve done this before, but have you, gatito?” Lee purrs in Hiromu’s ear. “You’re so tight, my gatito.” Hiromu shivers beneath him.

“Fuck…oh fuck…you’re,” Hiromu licks his lips, staring up at Lee, his pupils blown.

“I’m what?” Lee finally buries his full length inside Hiromu, and waits. Hiromu’s body is slowly adjusting to him, he can feel his muscles contract and twitch around his length.

“Bigger than the last guy who fucked me.” Hiromu tilts his head back, baring his throat. Lee nips at his Adam’s apple, feeling it bob as Hiromu swallows gasps of air.

“Sorry, we’ll take our time.” Lee kisses him. “You tell me when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready, but go slow, hmm?” Hiromu smiles at him, his fingers pattering on Lee’s shoulders.

“Alright, nice and slow to start.” Lee pulls back halfway, then pushes in again, slowly fucking Hiromu, waiting for him to give a signal to speed up. When Hiromu starts moving in sync with Lee, he speeds up, making Hiromu gasp, his nails biting into Lee’s shoulders. “God, Hiromu, you’re so tight.” Lee bows his head to Hiormu’s shoulder, speeding his thrusts up even more. “Fuck, gatito, fuck.”

“There!” Hiromu cries out, his body shivering in Lee’s arms, his legs wrapping around Lee’s waist, his heels digging in. “There, right there.” Lee tries to keep at that same angle, assuming he’s nudging that little spot inside Hiromu that makes him shiver and keen. “ _Uhhhh_ , s’good.” Hiromu’s hand slips between them, obviously jerking himself off.

“That’s it, my little gatito, cum for me. Let me see how good you feel. Let _me_ feel how good you feel.” Lee nips Hiromu’s earlobe, keeping up this harder, faster, more punishing pace. Hiromu cums, his hips jerk, his body shivers, his cum a warm smear against Lee’s stomach. For a moment, Lee stills, then takes a firm hold of Hiromu’s thighs, and folds him almost in half, fucking him as frantically as he can, pounding Hiromu’s tight, clinging body until his own orgasm rushes over him. Exhausted, Lee pulls out of Hiromu’s body, and rolls to his back, staring up at the ceiling. Hiromu’s panting beside him. Lee reaches out, groping for Hiromu’s hand. He takes a hold of it, and raises it to his lips, kissing the back of it. Hiromu’s thumb moves over the back of Lee’s hand.

“I guess, I have to tell you my dreams now, hmm?” Hiromu turns his head towards Lee, a quirk of a smile on his lips, his eyes hazy and sated.

“I guess you’ve no more excuses.” Lee kisses his hand again, holding it against his cheek. “So, will you tell me your dreams, gatito?”

“ _Gatito?_ ” Hiromu blinks at him in confusion. Lee nods. It’s a cute nickname, it suits him, Lee’s sticking with it, and not explaining himself. “Fine…my dreams…” Hiromu sighs, and turns away from Lee, his eyes closed. “I keep dreaming the same thing over and over again.” Lee moves closer, sliding his arm under Hiromu’s waist. Lee rolls to his side, and drapes a leg over Hiromu’s.

“Tell me about it.” Lee kisses Hiromu’s shoulder.

“It’s a strange dream…it’s like a memory more than a dream.” Hiromu’s eyes are almost misty, almost lost in his thoughts. “I wake up in a room. It’s raining outside, pitter-pattering against the walls…I can hear the rain, and windchimes tinkling. It’s night-time, and the room is lit with candles or a lantern, something that flickers.”

“Sounds nice.” Lee catches Hiromu’s chin, turning his face to him. “What happens in this room, Hiromu?”

“A man talks to me.” Hiromu smiles slightly, looking through Lee, his eyes glazed, lost in his mind.

“What man?” Lee prompts, but Hiromu shakes his head.

“I don’t know who he is, but I _know_ him…he’s important.” Hiromu blinks suddenly, and pushes Lee away. He rolls off the bed, and scrambles out the room. “Lee! Lee! C’mere!” Hiromu calls from the other room.

“What is it?” Lee gets off the bed, grabbing a random pair of pants from the floor, pulling them on before he joins Hiromu in the other room.

“That’s him.” Hiromu’s holding a book in a language Lee can’t read but doesn’t look like Japanese, Hiromu’s pointing at a low-quality sketch of an Asian man. “The man from my dream…Lee…I’ve been dreaming about Tetsuya Shimizu.” Lee stares at the picture.

“I…I know this face…I…” Lee rubs his temples. His head throbs. “Shower, and we’ll get to work.” Hiromu nods absently, his eyebrows furrowed as he stares at the book in his hands. Lee rubs a knuckle over his eyes, and leans his hip against the kitchen island. Something on the counter catches his eye. “Hiromu.”

“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up from the book, like his attention is utterly held by the picture, like he thinks that just by staring at he’ll be able to solve the mysteries of the world.

“Hiromu, where did you get this?”

“Get what?” Hiromu looks up from the book finally. He looks horrified by what’s in Lee’s hand, like he knows something about it that Lee doesn’t, like he’s afraid of it.

“This knife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to the end here folks...


	15. Homecoming

His head hurts. It’s a low, mildly throbbing pain like he’d banged it on something, nothing bad but nigglingly persistent. It’s being calmed by someone’s gentle caresses through his hair though, long strokes through his shaggy mane that don’t seem to have any purpose but to soothe him. He supposes it must be Lee, but he can’t remember him coming back. He’d left after their morning _activities_ , claiming to need to speak with someone. Hiromu had stayed home, and scoured his notes, files, and bookmarked webpages for more information on Shimizu Tetsuya, coming up with nothing but blanks, and the headache. He’d taken something for the headache, and gone to lie down.

“Stop, I’m trying to sleep.” He bats at the hand petting his hair. He should rest, should try again in an hour or so, a nap will help clear his mind, help him focus on chasing Shimizu. The hand doesn’t stop petting his hair though. He gives up. It seems like too much effort to get Lee to stop this. A peal of thunder and a crack of lightning signals the start of a storm, the storm that should have come what feels like months ago. Time has been fuzzy for him lately. Days have felt like minutes or years depending on their whims. He can’t even remember how long they’ve been investigating this case; never mind how long he’s been in Mexico. “Poor Nabe.” He mutters, wanting to voice that he’s not forgotten his partner, former partner, previous partner, he’s not sure which is the best way to describe him. Lee always seems so _resentful_ of him mentioning Watanabe, but he doesn’t stop stroking his hair, so maybe he didn’t hear, maybe the thunder drowned him out. The rain is lashing against the window. He can’t remember if he fed Señor Daryl. He must have, but he can’t remember the last time he saw the cat. “I used to be so good at noticing things.” Another half-asleep mumble, the fingers in his hair trail down over his cheek. “I’m tired.” His voice is soft, wispy like mist. Under the rain he can hear windchimes. He vaguely remembers buying some a while ago, days ago, maybe it weeks, time doesn’t seem to matter as much as it should.

“I know. I know you’re tired.” A warm voice, familiar more than anything else, more welcome than any other could be. Hiromu should open his eyes, should look at the man who just spoke to him. Instead, he lies still, letting those long fingers run through his hair. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Hmm.” Hiromu doesn’t respond beyond that. His body feels heavy, lethargic in a way it never has before. The gentle caresses don’t stop as the man beside him shifts, laying down, pressing in close to his side.

“Far too long.” His voice is closer, right by Hiromu’s ear, but he can’t feel the warmth of his breath. The pets to his hair stop. A fingers traces over the marks on the side of his neck. “So sleepy still, but,” cool lips press to the side of his neck, sending a shiver through him, “we’ve run out of time.”

“I don’t think you can.” Hiromu tilts his head to the side a little, letting the man nuzzle against his neck. For a moment, he listens to the rain and the windchimes.

“You can though.” A soft murmur against his neck, followed by the scrape of teeth.

“I don’t remember.” Hiromu sighs. He opens his eyes as the room is lit by a flash of lightning. On the nightstand is a candle, flickering and brave against the encroaching darkness. “I…I don’t remember.” He repeats simply for the sake of saying words. The man beside him shifts again, moves away.

“What will you do?” He asks. Hiromu hasn’t looked at him, doesn’t want to, not yet. He feels oddly like he did on his birthday as a child, filled with anticipation and excitement, but waiting, enjoying the suspense.

“What are my options, I wonder?” He closes his eyes again, parting his legs, letting the man settle between them.

“The same as they were before.” The man is over him, Hiromu can feel his weight on top of him, light though it is, it’s reassuringly solid.

“I don’t remember.” Hiromu screws his eyes to keep them closed, not wanting to peek, not yet.

“No?” The man is stroking his face, soft exploring touches. “I didn’t expect you to, but…”

“You hoped?” Hiromu presses a kiss to the finger that flittered over his lips.

“I’ve spent a long time doing that,” the finger comes back to his lips, resting on them, “hoping.” It moves away before Hiromu can kiss it, replaced with cool lips brushing the mildest of kisses to his. “Hoping, and waiting.” Another barely there kiss. “I’ve been waiting so long, baby.”

“Sorry.” Hiromu, his eyes still screwed shut, reaches out to slide his hands into the man’s hair, keeping him in place, so he can whisper the words against his lips. “I’m so sorry I made you wait so long,” he kisses the man, slipping his tongue between his lips, “Mama.” Finally, Hiromu opens his eyes. The man over him is beautiful, _perfect_ , exactly as he is in his dreams.

“Hmm?” He smiles down at Hiromu, a smile that warms his soul.

“Mama.” Hiromu kisses him again, running his tongue over the sharp edge of his teeth, letting one of them nick his tongue. The man, Shimizu Tetsuya, Bushi, _Mama_ , shivers, and deepens the kiss as though chasing the taste of his blood. “Is it time?” Hiromu asks when Bushi pulls back from the kiss, his pupils blown wide, panting softly.  

“It is.” Bushi sits up between his spread legs, and holds his arms out, welcoming Hiromu to him. “Come on, let me…” He trails off, and smiles, his tongue flickering over his too sharp, too white canine teeth. Hiromu sits up, only to slump against Bushi, his forehead against his shoulder.

“Why now?” He can feel Bushi’s hands stroking his back, moving in tight circles.

“You saw the knife, didn’t you?” He kisses the side of Hiromu’s head. The knife. He shudders. _He_ doesn’t know the knife, but his body, his soul maybe, does. A part of him remembers that blade in his gut, remembers his insides outside, remembers Lee staring at him, cradling his dying body, remembers _lo siento mi gatito_ against his hair, remembers hoping, but can’t remember what he was hoping for. “Everything is close to being over for now.” Bushi squeezes him tightly. “I’ll give you the same choice I gave you last time.”

“I don’t remember.” Hiromu confesses to his shoulder, not wanting to see disappointment in Bushi’s eyes.

“I know, I know.” More gentle circles on his back, another kiss to his hair. “Take my offer, join me, and I’ll protect you, _love_ you as you are, for who and what you are, or…” He pauses, his arms clinging as though the _or_ scares him. A memory stirs in Hiromu’s mind, sharp in its clarity.

_A darkened temple. A man in a mask that looks like a tiger, in his hand is the cursed knife. He’s chanting, quiet words over and over. The knife glows. He turns to Hiromu, snatches his wrist, presses the blade to the back of his hand. “This will keep it asleep until we can be rid of it.” By it the man means him, Hiromu might be young but he knows that much._

“Or I die.” Hiromu pulls back from Bushi’s shoulder, meets his eyes. “Not like last time, not like sleeping… _he’s_ here, isn’t he?” Bushi nods once. “Then,” Hiromu tilts his head, gathering his hair, baring the left side of his neck, “bring me home, Mama.” Bushi kisses him, a frantic kiss like he was trying to consume him. Then he breaks the kiss to look at Hiromu for a second, just a second before the sudden spike of pain from him biting Hiromu’s neck. The feeling of his blood being drained is indescribable, ephemeral. His mind, his body is a hazy, contented thing. The only thing that truly registers is the familiarity of Bushi’s warming body against him. He _knows_ this, knows the way he melds to fit Bushi perfectly, like this is something he’s done a thousand times. Maybe he has. Maybe.

“Baby,” Bushi’s stroking his hair back from his face, he looks almost overcome, his lips smeared red, his eyes entirely black. “Oh baby…” He seems to be waiting for something, watching intently for _something_. The room is dark, it feels faraway. He can’t breathe properly, his whole body is empty, and weighs so very much. “Let go, baby, let go. I’ll catch you, I promise.” Hiromu closes his eyes.

“Urgh.” Hiromu swallows, feeling something running down his throat, something warm, and sweet. He pulls back, licking his lips, resting his forehead against the solid form of Bushi, still holding him tightly.

“You full, baby?” Bushi’s voice has changed, deeper, more melodic. It’s like he can hear every note of it, like he had been deaf but now he can hear. Hiromu opens his eyes, then snaps them shut. Everything is too bright, too much. “Shh, it’s okay. I know it’s a lot to be yourself again, baby.” Bushi tries to move away from him, he clings tighter. “I’m going to snuff the candle out, so it’s easier for you.” Hiromu loosens his grasp just a little, clinging once Bushi settles back in front of him. “Open your eyes, let me see my beautiful boy reawakened.” Hiromu does as he’s asked, tentatively cracking one eye open. Even in the darkness, he can clearly see Bushi smiling at him. Bushi cradles his face, caressing his skin, staring at him as though he was the most precious thing in the world. “Welcome home, baby, welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left now 😁


	16. Lo Siento, Mi Gatito

Yesterday had been awkward. He’d never meant to sleep with Hiromu. He might have not meant to, but he can’t regret it, could never regret it. Hiromu beneath him, his warm, welcoming body, his kiss, the whole moment had been perfect, but what happened after had been strange. Hiromu had sprung from the bed, started reading though a book, and then been freaked out by the strange knife on his counter. Lee hadn’t recognised the knife, but he’d taken it with him, not wanting Hiromu to be uncomfortable. He’d left him with a promise to come back, and Hiromu’s spare key in his pocket.

He’d ended up asking Rush to meet him in the weird, dark little coffee shop, and had been teased almost as much as he had been over his first girlfriend. She’d left him for some big dumb American boy on holiday, who had dumped her as soon as he’d gone back to L.A. Rush had accused him of looking just as he had when she’d left him, and leapt at the opportunity to torment his baby brother. He’d told Rush about what had happened that morning, and set the knife on the table. Rush has looked slightly horrified by the weapon, and asked him where he’d gotten it in a tone Lee had never heard him use, _afraid_ almost. Lee hadn’t been able to explain where the knife had come from. Rush had recovered from his _fearfulness_ easily enough, and returned to his normal teasing self. Lee had considered it odd, but decided to let his brother be, he didn’t want to think on the knife too much either. After leaving Rush, he’d considered going to see Hiromu, but in the end, he’d sent a message, and gone home to bed. It seemed like it wouldn’t be a good idea to bother Hiromu too much.

Today, all he’s hoping for is things to not be awkward. He hopes Hiromu made some headway with whatever revelation he had yesterday, he’s hoping things aren’t too different, he’s hoping he might get to kiss Hiromu again. That feels like a scandalous admission in his head, like he shouldn’t be thinking about that, like Hiromu shouldn’t be someone he considers in that way. It’s a silly thought, because he’s already made love to Hiromu, but it’s one that haunts him until he arrives at Hiromu’s apartment building.

There’s a man in a lucha mask leaning against the wall. He straightens up when Lee approaches.

“Did you do it?” He grabs Lee’s shoulder, and presses him against the wall. His mouth is thin, grim line, his eyes narrowed and filled with fury. There’s something almost familiar about this man, like Lee’s half convinced he’s met this man before.

“Sir, are you oaky?” Lee pushes the man away, ignoring the odd déjà vu he’s feeling. It’s like this has happened before, like it’s happened many times before. “Is there someone I can call? I’m a police officer, I can help.”

“You met the monster, didn’t you?” He says something Lee can’t understand, but he can understand the tone. He presses a thumb to Lee’s forehead; his other hand grabs the back of Lee’s head stopping him from moving away. “I didn’t want to do this to you boy, but you need to understand the depth of the danger you’re facing.”

“Sir, I…” Lee trails off. He feels like he’s taken something he shouldn’t have, disconnected from his body. “What?” Lee tries to ask, tries to demand, but the words clutter in his throat, and all he can do is close his eyes.

~~~

“The monster has him.” The words coming out his mouth aren’t what Lee had wanted to say. He doesn’t recognise the place he’s in, doesn’t recognise anything of this at all. In front of him are several men, two of them in masks, one of those two the tiger masked man who accosted him outside of Hiromu’s building.

“Hiromu?” The man in the middle of the muddle, wearing a mask that looks like something from a Saturday cartoon asks. Lee’s head nods. “It was only a matter of time.”

“We should have killed him when we first found out.” A harsh voice to come from such a seemingly mild looking man dressed in orange and white.

“He was a child.” An older man, a jovial lilt in his voice, but a sorrowful look in his eye.  

“We deal with it now.” Tiger Mask turns to Lee. “Come, come and listen. I’ll tell you what must be done to save the world.”

~~~

“What was that?” Lee’s panting, shivering despite the warmth of the day. Tiger Mask gives him a tight-lipped smile.

“A memory…many memories all at once. You’ve had the opportunity to defeat this demon many times, but…it is crafty, and cunning, and has always escaped. The last time…” He looks away with a sigh. “The last time was The Order’s fault. We were distracted, and couldn’t perform The Rite to banish it. This time though, this time I am prepared.” Tiger Mask takes hold of Lee’s shoulders, holding him up. “The demon is a horror, and must be removed. If we let it roam, it will kill countless innocent people. How many more Katrina Vasquezs do you want on your conscience?”

“I…” The knife feels like it weighs a tonne in his pocket. “I can’t kill Hiromu.” Lee’s mind is trying to sort through the flood of memories Tiger Mask awakened in his mind, trying to sift through what feels like lifetimes of memories, all with Hiromu’s face woven through them. He can’t process how long he’s been chasing Hiromu, the demon. His memories are very clear on that one fact. He’s not chasing Hiromu the human, but a demon that brings chaos and death with it, a demon that acts as some kind of vanguard for a coven of monsters headed by Bushi. One truly clear memory comes to him. Hiromu, dressed in blue robes, the scent of vanilla in the air, blood trickling from his lip, a sword clutched in his hand, staring at something in the shadows of a fire, staring at a cat, a cat that looks like the stray he’d picked up in the alleyway.

“Hiromu is already dead.” Tiger Mask squeezes his shoulders, jolting him from that oddly stark memory. “He wouldn’t want this…he wouldn’t want to become a monster.” Lee can’t imagine Hiromu would, not the Hiromu who’d spoken about the little murdered girl in his car, not the Hiromu with his lists of murdered woman and so many hours of research. No, Hiromu wouldn’t be a monster, wouldn’t be a killer, couldn’t be a vampire. The marks on his neck. The vampire, Bushi, must have assumed the form of a cat, or the cat is a familiar something like that, and been draining Hiromu all this time. Hiromu is dead. Lee rolls his shoulders. Tiger Mask lets go. “It’s best to do it now. The monster will be sleeping.”

Hiromu’s apartment is quiet. The demon is sleeping on the couch. It still looks like Hiromu. It feels offensive that this horror should wear his face despite being so very different to him.

“Kill it.” Tiger Mask hisses. “If we’re lucky, and you’re quick, the demon won’t have a chance to complicate things.” Lee tightens his grip the knife. He could have used some time to process every single memory that had been dragged from his soul, but Tiger Mask is right. The world doesn’t need this creature roaming it, doesn’t need it lending its strength to the monster, Bushi. Killing this beast is the best thing he can do, the _only_ thing he can do. Lee shifts his grip on the knife, and approaches the sleeping demon, sprawled as it is on the couch.

“How many times have I said sleep in a bed?” Lee whispers, wanting to move the demon’s hair from its face. It looks so much like Hiromu, so _very_ much like him, only the bright red at the tips of its hair making it clear it’s not.

“Through the heart, Lee.” Tiger Mask sounds harried, his voice clipped and harsh. Lee closes his eyes for a second, whispers a soft apology, and raises the knife.

“Hmm…really?” The voice comes from behind Lee, deep, rich, amused, and well-rested. “You can explain to the landlord why there’s a stab wound in his couch.” It laughs.

“Lee!” Tiger Mask snarls. He’s clawing at the hand around his throat. The demon turns from the man dangling from its hand to smile at Lee, a lazy fond quirk of its lips.

“You really would have killed me, hmm?” It asks him, shaking Tiger Mask a little. “What number did he do on you?”

“I woke him up.” The man is rooting through his pockets, desperately. Finally, he pulls a string of beads from one, and presses it to the demon’s hand. The demon hisses, Tiger Mask crumples to the floor when he’s dropped.

“Woke him up?” The demon is sucking at the back of its hand, like a child would their finger after touching the stove. “Sure, old man. You woke up the memories that serve your purposes. Did you remind him of _everything_? Like why you don’t just kill me yourself?” A grin of malicious mischief spreads over the demon’s lips. Just as Hiromu was beautiful, this creature is too, but there is something distinctly not _human_ about it, something in the way it moves, in the way its eyes catch the light.

“He knows that abominations like you and that coven need to be destroyed.” Tiger Mask is on his knees, rubbing his throat, not looking at Lee.

“Ah! So, you let him know _half_ the story, and absolutely nothing about why he’s _so_ very important.” The demon’s voice is a taunting singsong. “Very sensible, wouldn’t you say, Lee? Always keep your weapon unblemished, it’s good advice. Telling you the full story would only make you dirty, weapon.” It turns to him, Hiromu’s smile on its face.

“Demon.” Lee gets to his feet once more, and approaches, the knife held out.

“Do you want to know why you have to kill me? I wonder if you ever knew…” The demon reaches out to him. “How much did he tell you?”

“You’re a monster, a _demon_.” Lee’s clutching the knife, feeling like he should be scared, but he can’t be. The demon has Hiromu’s face, Hiromu’s scent, his lazy smile. He can’t be afraid of Hiromu, no matter how intimidating, how fearful the creature he has become is, all Lee can think of is how sweet his lips are.

“Hmm, I suppose that’s what they’d tell you.” The demon sighs, a lock of its hair fluttering from its face. “The Order are a little… _restrained_ when it comes to the truth, I suppose.” The demon flexes its fingers. “I don’t bite, come closer.” Lee takes a single step closer. The demon snags the wrist of the hand holding the knife, and draws him into tight, but one-armed embrace. It makes a contented purr. The demon kisses Lee’s temple. Its hair is silky soft as it brushes against Lee’s face.

“Hiromu.” Lee pushes it away, needing space to think, needing to not be wrapped up in the sweet scent of the demon.

“Well, at least I get my name.” The demon grins.

“Lee! You know what you have to do.” Tiger Mask is on his feet once more, in his hands that long string of beads. He starts chanting something, running the beads through his hands. The air feels strange, charged like the seconds before a lightning strike.

“Well,” the demon lets go of Lee’s wrist, and spreads its arms, “everyone else is asleep, so you know what you have to do.” Its eyes fall closed. “Aim for the heart, Lee. If you’re going to kill me, do it properly.”

“ _Lo siento, mi gatito._ ” Lee plunges the blade into yielding flesh, missing the heart on purpose. The body crumples. The air clears. He feels _awake_.

“What?” The fur near the edges of the mask are is soaking up the blood that Tiger Mask is spitting out. The string of beads has snapped, and now their dark wood is shiny red, leaving strange stains on the tile of the apartment floor.

“You stabbed him?” The demon sounds bewildered. Lee glances over at it, at the confounded owlish look on its face. Lee tucks a few strands of loose hair behind its ear, running the back of his fingers against its cheek. “What…why would you stab him?” Its voice is a little whisper, soft and fragile.

“I let you sacrifice yourself once, there’s no way I was letting you do it again, idiot.” A voice Lee doesn’t know says from the couch. The demon leaps past him, by the sound of things into the arms of man who had spoken. He’s still holding the knife. Tiger Mask is still bleeding out. Lee stares blankly at the knife in his hand. His mind doesn’t feel like it’s working properly, like that brief moment of clarity is falling away from him, like the few seconds where he knew what happened is being muddled, hidden from him.

“Stop.” He throws the knife across the room. It clatters against the tiles. “Stop it!” He clutches at his head, wanting to turn around, wanting to keep the clarity. He can feel things slipping from him, memories leaving him, the memories Tiger Mask has roused in him are fading. Memories of riding horses through small villages, old women feeding him and his companion, his _partner_ , a man dressed in blue that smells sweet like vanilla. His companion, his Hiromu. “Stop!” He shakes his head, forces his body to turn to the couch, to the man sitting primly on it. “I won’t let you make me forget.”

“Troublesome.” Bushi sighs. The man beside him gives Lee a smile. “You’re the one who left the command in his mind, you deal with this.” Bushi elbows the man sat at his left, and continues petting the demon’s hair.

“Oh, stop thinking of him like that, it’s annoying.” The man gets up. “Demon makes him sound all cool and scary, and look at him.” He gestures back to the couch, to where the demon is snuggling up to Bushi, as he approaches Lee. “Spoiled, little brat.” The comment is clearly directed to the demon. “ _Hiromu._ ” The man says it slowly, calmly, like he was talking to a child, but Lee supposes to him, he must be. The man clearly isn’t human, humans tend to have less sharp looking canines.

“Hiromu _is_ a demon though.” Lee sounds slow, like a sleepy child.

“He is.” The vampire in front of him nods.

“Why…”

“Why is he a demon?” The vampire laughs at him, and shrugs. “Or why didn’t you kill him, hmm?”

“I didn’t kill him, because…” Lee trails off. The motivation had been so clear when he’d pivoted and buried the knife in Tiger Mask’s guts, but now it feels foggy.

“Because about a week ago, I came to dinner.” The vampire smiles brightly at Lee. “Don’t worry, you and your family weren’t on the menu, and don’t remember, but whilst I was there, I…well…I left a little insurance policy in your head.” The vampire taps Lee’s temple. “See, it was my fault we lost Hiromu once. Mama sent me a message telling me to make sure that didn’t happen again, so I did.” The vampire pats Lee’s shoulder. “You have your murderer, detective.” He points the man bleeding on the floor. “This man murdered Katrina Vasquez, Margarita Hernandez, and those women in Tokyo. You’re going to get such a good promotion for this, Detective.” Lee looks at him, at the softly smiling, Asian man in front of him, at his warm brown eyes, and messy hair.

“That’s not…”

“Don’t fight it, Lee.” Hiromu. Blindly, Lee reaches out to him, and takes a firm hold of Hiromu’s shirt, holding him close.

“I won’t…I lost you once, gatito. Don’t let me lose you again, don’t.” Lee buries his face against Hiromu’s chest. “I don’t…I remembered for a moment what it was to have had and to have lost you, and I won’t…not this time, not again.” Lee stops talking. Hiromu sighs.

“I don’t think I’m allowed pets.” Hiromu laughs softly. The last thing Lee hears before everything fades is a long-suffering sigh, and the sound of his big brother laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue to go now folks.


	17. Welcome to The Family

“Hello.” Lee glances up from his screen. He’s been stuck investigating this strange case for the last week; a young woman found in an alleyway, most of her blood around her in a pool, nowhere near enough in her. “Hello?” The man in front of him looks almost familiar, there’s something about him that makes Lee feel like he knows him.

“Hi.” Lee straightens up, and gives the man a smile. He’s handsome; wide face, thick soft lips, pretty dark eyes, and a torrent of softly curling hair, the ends deep red. “Can I help you?” This must be the Japanese detective working the case in Tokyo, the murders like the one Lee’s investigating.

“Mmm, maybe, but I think I think I can help you more.” The man extends his hand. “Detective Takahashi.” Lee gets to his feet, and takes his hand. It’s warm, and soft. He smells soft, and sweet, like vanilla or maybe shea butter.

~~~

There’s a weird mark on his neck. It’s like bug bites, two odd little red marks that stand out on Lee’s warmly tanned skin. Hiromu’s commented on them during their investigations. He gave him a cat, assuring him that cats are remarkable bug hunters.  Señor Daryl seems to hate Lee. He mostly sits on the back of Lee’s couch, scowling at him. The cat adores Hiromu though. He’s currently curled up in Hiromu’s lap, ignoring them as they discuss the case. A second dead woman, in a second alleyway, in a second pool of her own blood, exactly two weeks after the first.

“I don’t…there’s no leads we’ve not followed, Hiromu. Nothing.” Lee sighs, flipping through the files again.

“I know.” Hiromu groans, his head flops back against the back of the couch. His neck is broad, his skin is dark gold, there’s a mole on his throat. A stupid part of Lee wants to kiss that mole. “We have to have missed something.” The cat stretches on his lap, and hops down to the floor, padding off somewhere.

“What though?” Lee sighs, and snags the little glass of tequila, shooting it. Hiromu is drinking straight from the bottle, his cheeks flushed, his gaze soft. He looks more beautiful than usual. “Give me that bottle.” Lee reaches out for it. Hiromu laughs, and drinks from the bottle again. “C’mon, share, asshole.”

“Come and get it.” He takes a long drink, and waggles the bottle. Lee clambers over the coffee table, and pounces, pinning Hiromu to the couch.

“Share.” Lee grins down at him. Hiromu’s cheeks are ballooned out like a hamster, despite that he’s beautiful. “Share.” Lee leans down, and kisses Hiromu, taking the mouthful of tequila from him.

~~~

“Four dead women, Hiromu!” Lee’s screaming because he can’t think of any other way to deal with this. Four dead women, four alleyways, four pools of blood. They’re getting nowhere, achieving nothing, wasting time they should be using to find who or what killed those women.

“I know.” Hiromu looks at him, his gaze full of sympathy. “But, you need to rest, Lee. You look like…you look tired.” Lee rubs his eyes, and then at the marks on his neck. They don’t itch, or even hurt, but he’s aware of them, constantly aware of them. “We can’t solve this is one of us is dead on his feet.” Hiromu gets to his feet, and offers Lee his hand. “C’mon, we’ll go for a drive.”

“A drive?” Lee shifts sluggishly. Hiromu doesn’t say anything, he just hauls Lee to his feet, and ushers him out of the office. Lee collapses into the car, turns to Hiromu. “We’ve let four women die.”

“We didn’t _let_ them die, Lee.” Hiromu sounds exasperated, like he’s tired of repeating himself. “Get some sleep.”

“I…sleeping’s hard. My dreams…” Lee sighs.

“You want to talk about it?” Hiromu sounds hopeful, Lee shakes his head.

“I only tell my dreams to people I’m sleeping with.” Lee laughs softly. “You know, I promised my mother I’d stop whoever’s killing them.” The sunlight is streaming through Hiromu’s hair, the red seemingly brighter than normal. “Your hair’s really pretty.” Lee murmurs, reaching out aimlessly to brush the backs of his fingers against the waves. “I…it’s strange, but I…” Lee rubs several strands of Hiromu’s hair between his finger and thumb. “Your hair’s really pretty.” He repeats himself, and takes his hand back. “I’ll get some sleep.” Hiromu gives him a slight smile, and starts the engine of the car.

~~~

Nine women are dead.

Lee’s lying on his back staring at the ceiling. Hiromu’s lying beside him, quiet save for his panting breath.

Nine women are dead.

Instead of finding their killer, he’s just had sex with his partner.

Nine women are dead.

Instead of avenging them, he’s thinking about the way Hiromu arched into his touch, the way the pet name _gatito_ came to his lips without thought, like it was exactly how he should call Hiromu.

Nine women are dead.

“Close your eyes, Lee.” Hiromu’s voice is soft, deep, and soothing. Lee lets his eyes fall closed, not resisting when Hiromu tilts his head to the side. “You’ve been having strange dreams, haven’t you?” He almost purrs in Lee’s ear.

“I only tell my dreams to people I’m sleeping with.” Lee murmurs, a shiver running through him as Hiromu’s teeth skim the skin of his neck.

“We just _slept_ together, but it’s okay. I already know your dreams, Lee.” Hiromu whispers in Lee’s ear. “I know you dream of me, a me that’s not _me_ but is.” His lips press against Lee’s neck. “I know you dream of blue robes, and the scent of vanilla, of fire and blood, of me beneath you.” His teeth scrape at Lee’s neck, nipping at the skin. Lee shivers. “I know your dreams, because they’re not dreams.” Hiromu straddles him. “They’re memories.” Lee brings his hands up Hiromu’s back, into his hair, holding his head in place over him. “Memories of lives lived long, and those not so long ago.”

“Hiromu?” Lee presses his head back against the pillows so he can meet Hiromu’s eyes. They look off, almost like the eyes of an animal, reflecting the light in the dim room strangely. “Hiromu?” He smiles, and leaning into Lee’s hands. “What…are you?” Lee stares at him.

“You know what I am, Lee.” Hiromu smiles at him. “You know.” Hiromu leans down, and presses a kiss to Lee’s lips.

“Demon.” Lee whispers. Memories trickle through him. A man in a mask like a tiger snarling that he has to kill the demon, to stop the monster, save the world. Hiromu, a different Hiromu though, shorter black hair, exhausted dark marks under his eyes. A man, an elegant slender man with delicate beautiful mask. Mama. Lee stares up at Hiromu. “Where’s your coven, Hiromu? Where’s your mama?”

“Mama’s close enough. Why?” Hiromu’s eyes are narrowed, a pout on his lips.

“I wanted to know if you were allowed pets yet.” Lee pulls Hiromu back down, and kisses him again, twisting them over, pressing Hiromu down against the bed. “I won’t let them make me forget you again. I refuse. I’ll steal you. I won’t let you go this time.”

“That’s not your decision.”

“ _Mama_.” Hiromu whines from beneath Lee. “I waited like a good boy, didn’t I?” The bed dips. “I get to keep him now?” Lee looks up from Hiromu’s face. Perched on the bed is an elegant, slender man, white gold hair curling at his shoulders.

“You did…” Bushi strokes Hiromu’s face. “Fine, but he’s _your_ responsibility.” Hiromu grins, slithers out from underneath Lee, and plasters himself to Bushi. Eventually he slinks away, leaving Lee alone with Bushi. “Do you remember the last time we were alone?” Lee nods.

“I protected him like you asked.” Lee remembers. He remembers his last life, remembers the last time he saw Bushi, remembers every thought of Hiromu being stolen from him. “I protected him, and you took him from me anyway.”

“You weren’t ready.” Bushi pulls him to his feet. There’s a hard edge to his voice, the hardness is difficult to place, maybe annoyance, maybe disdain, maybe frustration.

“I’m ready now?” Bushi snorts. Lee closes his eyes, gasping when he feels Bushi bite his neck. It’s strange letting the vampire drain his blood, strange but euphoric. Everything fades from him, the only thing that lingers in his mind is Hiromu beneath him.

“Drink.” Lee can barely hear the words, but he can feel the warm liquid against his lips. He latches on, drinking as much as he can. Eventually, Bushi takes his wrist away. Lee’s lying on his back staring at the ceiling. Hiromu’s lying beside him, stroking his hair. Hiromu leans over, and kisses Lee, then snuggles up to him. Lee hold holds him close.

Nine women are dead.

Lee’s going to kill the tenth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! I hope you enjoyed this little tale.


End file.
